Flip of a Coin
by corneroffandom
Summary: Ricardo Rodriguez's bad luck only continues after TLC.
1. Next To Me Part 1

A/N: This part is fairly dark. Keep reading, there will be a light at the end of the tunnel. I promise.

For Ricardo Rodriguez, TLC had simply been torture. First he had gotten covered in food when Miz slapped a plate of Alberto Del Rio's dinner in his face, then he had attempted to help in the ladder match, just for the rickety steel monstrosity to get tipped over by Miz and Punk. The last thing he remembers is freefalling before hitting hard, agony immediately wiping out everything else as he skids and smacks into something even more unforgiving.

He's swimming in a sea of darkness for what feels like a really long time, distorted sounds coming and going. When he does finally come to, he's laying in a hospital bed, a doctor and nurse both bustling around the room, whispering to each other. "What happened?" His body throbs from head to toe and he thinks he has some busted ribs, each breath sending a sharp pain up his chest. He's wearing a neck brace, which makes it impossible to move his head even an inch.

"You fell off of a ladder into a table," Alberto's voice surprises him, his eyes widening as he just manages to spot him out of the corner of his eye sitting in a chair against the wall, giving the hospital staff room to work now that he's awake.

With a startled breath, he remembers vaguely climbing a ladder to the very top in an attempt to reach the title belt, all focus only on assisting Del Rio in regaining his title belt... and then nothing. His face scrunches up as he considers a fall from that height. "Oh." His voice is small and a little fearful, to his own shame.

Alberto stands, resting a comforting hand on his arm as the doctor greets his patient, delving right into his prognosis. "There's no sign of any permanent injury. I want to run a few more tests now that you're awake, but so far all that's obvious is a couple broken ribs and a moderate concussion, along with some bruising and contusions. You were lucky, after a fall from that height."

Ricardo agrees to the tests, getting sent back immediately for a CT scan. The last thing he sees before being wheeled out of the room is Alberto sitting back down, an aggravated glower on his face. Obviously he had had an unsuccessful match and this is the last place he wants to be right now.

So, for this reason, when the results come back proving that Ricardo appears fine, just concussed as initially diagnosed, with some added in whiplash for fun (which explains the neck brace, that the doctor suggests he continues wearing for stability), the ring announcer opts to be released despite the doctor's recommendation to admit him.

Alberto relaxes slightly as soon as he spots the car in the ER parking lot, one of his favorites, a bright red Mustang. Ricardo grows even surer about his decision now. He feels a little dizzy and sick as his headache grows even worse, but sinking into the soft leather seats feels nice, his eyes slipping closed immediately.

"Ricardo?" Del Rio's voice revives him slightly. "I want to drive straight through to Pennsylvania. If you need anything before we go, say so."

He's comfortable and warm, lulled by the soft purring of the car's engine, so he just shakes his head, already half-asleep. "I'm fine." In all honesty, his ribs and back hurt, his head throbs down to his neck and back up and he's as far from fine as can be possible, but he doesn't want to move. Desperate for comfortable rest, he tugs off the neck brace and throws it into the back seat to put back on later when he's a little more awake.

"Very well." The hours pass quietly, the two just managing to avoid arriving in the middle of a nasty snow and rain mix. Ricardo, a little more awake now, keeps his mouth shut and eyes closed, his concussion still making watching the passing scenery impossible. He lets Alberto have his peace as they drive around aimlessly, the night sky just starting to light up as day tries to take over from the gloom.

He's not sure how long they've been driving when Alberto re-enters at a 55 zone and begins going faster, testing the car's durability in these cold temperatures. Forcing his eyes open, he turns briefly and glances at Del Rio, takes in how the street lights outside flash against his still angry eyes, his hands tight around the steering wheel. He sighs softly and turns back to facing ahead, his hands shifting against his thighs.

It's only a minute or two later that the man next to him mumbles a strained curse and Ricardo feels it underneath him- the car's tires abruptly lose traction, skidding across the road as Alberto struggles to regain control. _Black ice,_ the ring announcer thinks in horror, tangling his fingers in the flimsy bar on his door as gravity seems to shift around them. It's instantaneous- he looks up in time to see the car on a collision course with one of the many light poles dotting the side of the road and, without thinking about anything but how Alberto's side of the car is about to slam at high speed into the pole, twists and lunges forward to protect the destined one, alternatively relieved and horrified that the classic car doesn't have seat belts or airbags, the protection not keeping him from attempting to shield Alberto but also not there to keep Alberto in his seat.

The last thing he hears is a deafening crash, the squeeching sound of metal folding up around them following the sobering sound. A sharp pain blares through his mid-section, worse than before, robbing him of his breath as darkness overwhelms everything for the second time in six hours.

Encompassing pain is the first thing that digs past the barrier of unconsciousness, teasing along his ribcage and up his chest. He sucks in greedy, desperate gasps of air, his head throbbing in time with the rest of him. It feels like a lifetime passes as he struggles to open his eyes, his fingers fruitlessly flexing against something warm and... wet? This more than anything makes his eyes snap open, his gasps turning into pitiful groans as he shifts wrong and his whole body lets him know about it.

As his eyes focus to the muted darkness, he ignores the pain that seems to ratchet up with every movement and shifts once more, looking down at his hand. It's pressed against fresh, bright red blood, spreading slowly across familiar clothes. He pales and stares, trying to make sense of the scene before him. "Alberto?" He finally sorts himself out enough- inch by painful inch- and looks up slowly, finding himself half-sprawled out across Del Rio's prone form. "Alberto...?" The driver's side window is cracked, spiderwebbing viciously from top to bottom. Alberto's face is pressed awkwardly against it in what looks like a very painful position

The silence drags on, taunting him. "ALBERTO!"

His still bloodied hands fluttering around the unconscious man's shoulders and face, not quite willing to move him in case he should make whatever damage there is worse, he panics for a few more moments before he starts to work automatically at what he _can_ to try to fix this. "Ok, ok, I'll call- I'll call for help," he groans, shifting awkwardly to pull his phone from his pants pocket. Thankfully the wreck hadn't broken it and he nearly feels like kissing the screen as it lights up in his hand. Instead, he glances at his motionless friend once more before dialing 911.

As it rings in, he leaves his free hand pressed against Alberto's shoulder, needing some sort of connection. "Hold on," he whispers. "Just a little longer. Help's coming."

He panics further as he realizes he has no idea where they're at. Thankfully there's GPS and the dispatcher begins tracking his phone, relaying the information to the ambulance that is on its way. Reassured, however briefly, by this, he puts the phone down carefully next to Alberto in case there's further need of it and watches the other man's shallow, slow breathing. He shakes his head against the stinging in his eyes and leans closer to Alberto, resting a hand on his neck lightly- his pulse is slow and almost faint, leaving Ricardo cold and clammy at its unsteadiness, but it's there, and that's a good thing.

He hurts all over too, his back pressed uncomfortably between Del Rio's seat and the steering wheel, and it's hard to focus. After awhile he realizes he's clasping onto the edge of Alberto's scarf, now dotted with bright red blood. "We'll have to buy a new one," he murmurs in a daze, his head swimming as he clings to anything that he thinks may keep himself on this side of consciousness while he waits for the ambulance. "And the car," he continues, grimacing. "You loved this one..." His energy fades further and he presses his face against Alberto's shoulder, dizzy and weak from his own injuries. "Sorry..."

His awareness comes and goes until finally, thankfully, he hears the loud, grating sound of the ambulance siren as it nears. "Alberto? They're here..." He pats Alberto's arm uncoordinatedly, disturbed by how cold the other man feels. "You're gonna be fine," he breathes out, trying to convince himself too.

His vision starts to swim as the sirens finally grow deafening, just to cut off abruptly. He closes his eyes but can still see the bright blue and red lights flashing against his face. "Help is here, Alberto," he repeats tiredly.

He's too out of it to watch but he hears many footfalls on either side of the car, and it seems to take forever until _finally_ the passenger door is wrenched open, rescue workers working quickly as they wrap a neckbrace around him to secure him- _This seems familiar, _he thinks drily_-_ before carefully pulling him out of the car. By the time his eyes flicker open, he's sprawled out on a stretcher and they're working on Alberto. He's unable to see what's going on through the sea of workers scattered outside of the car, his breathing speeding up as more time ticks past.

"Alberto?" he calls out, mist streaming from his lips with each breath as the freezing December air drifts against his skin, leaving him shivering even as a female EMT fusses around him, dropping a couple of blankets on top of him as they wait. "Alberto..."

"They're working on him, sir." The female EMT smiles, her frazzled blonde hair whipping around in the late night wind as she tucks the warm fabric more securely around him. "Are you comfortable? Is there anything I can do while we wait?"

He doesn't respond, his eyes still aimed in the direction he thinks Alberto is at, his lips twisting. "No," he finally whispers distantly, the cold a far away discomfort as he thinks about how still and pale his friend had been. "I need to help him," he groans, trying to sit up despite the various aches and pains he can feel. "He needs..."

The woman doesn't give him the opportunity, however, pushing him back down carefully, her lips held in a grim line. "No, sir, I can't let you off of this stretcher. You hang on, alright? We're preparing him for transport and then we'll get you both to the hospital ASAP."

Far from pleased with this, Ricardo has no choice but to settle back down and attempt to catch a glimpse of Del Rio in the sea of EMTs he can just see out of his peripheral vision.

Finally the wall of people parts just enough for him to catch a glimpse- the Mexican Aristocrat is tucked securely into a stretcher, a blanket similar to the one holding Ricardo in place wrapped around his body as well. "He can't go to the hospital alone," the ring announcer says clearly, the mere thought of Alberto alone in an ambulance while unconscious and _this _vulnerable- which is a term he never thought he'd use for his friend- seeming near criminal.

The female EMT pauses, staring over at the ambulance. "Listen, we're going to take you both together in the same ambulance, ok? It's badly icy around here and we aren't going to wait for another van to make the trip." This appeases him, his attention turning back to the prone form on the stretcher.

By the time they're both in the ambulance, Ricardo's adrenaline has crashed and he feels every ache and pain- especially along his mid-section, and neck. Even so, his eyes remain locked on Alberto as they are secured in the back of the vehicle, the EMTs spending the most time on a still-unconscious Del Rio. "Why isn't he waking up?" Ricardo asks, clenching his fists. His worry grows as now-dried blood flakes from between his fingers, reminding him of its presence.

"He hit his head," the female EMT tells him quietly, both of them watching as her coworker continues to work around the former world champion. "Most head injuries are worse than they appear, mostly because they bleed so much. Try not to worry." She notices as his hand flexes around the dried blood once more and smoothly wipes his palms off with a wet paper towel.

"Thank you," he breathes, still watching, all the more worried, as his friend doesn't even twitch upon the other technician applying a piece of gauze to his head wound. Red begins seeping through within seconds. "Alberto..." Their stretchers are next to each other so it thankfully only takes a small amount of shifting to move, his hand now resting on Del Rio's upper arm. Even that small amount of stretching sends pain up his midsection, but he ignores it, needing the contact.

When they arrive at the hospital minutes later, Ricardo breathes a little easier. Alberto's breathing had held strong through the trip, assisted by an oxygen cannula. His fingers brush against the soft fabric of his shirt once more before the other stretcher is pulled out of the ambulance, leaving Ricardo trying to keep track of him despite the headache that ratchets up with each movement.

"Take it easy, sir, we'll have you inside in a second," one of the male EMTs urges him, Alberto's stretcher already heading for the hospital doors.

He shakes his head, though it barely moves around the neck brace. "I can't... I need to be with Alberto," he reiterates, fingers clenching around the blankets wrapped snugly around him. "He can't be left alone."

"There are many doctors and nurses taking care of him right now," the female EMT tries to reassure him as they finally tug his stretcher out of the ambulance. "Don't worry, he's in good hands here."

He wants to believe them but his twitchiness remains throughout the wait, desperate to see for himself that Alberto is doing as well as is possible following the accident. He closes his eyes, body melting into the uncomfortable hospital bed that he's moved onto for his examination and winces as he recalls the scene of the accident in vivid color, how bright Alberto's blood staining his hands had been. "No," he groans, his eyes slamming open once more.

Moments later, a doctor bustles in, bleeding stoicism and effeciency. "Hello, Mr. Rodriguez, I am Dr. Reno Olmstead." He quickly looks over the chart before beginning to remove the neckbrace holding him still. "You were in a car accident?" He stares critically at the young man, quickly piecing together things found at the scene. Like the neck brace one of the EMTs had spotted in the back seat and dragged out with them, leaving at the nurse's desk before going out on his next ambulance run. "Were you injured before the accident?"

He nods morosely. "I, um... fell off a ladder. Into a table." Some of the doctor's calm cracks slightly as he raises an eyebrow. "I work for WWE." Nothing more needs to be said as the auburn haired man nods grimly, rolling his eyes slightly. A bit offended, Ricardo chooses to submit to the examination without a word. Getting this neck collar off is again a relief as he idly reaches up and scratches at his sweaty, sore neck.

The doctor, taking his cues from him, remains silent as he runs his hand over Ricardo's neck and skull. After cursory checks of his spine and extremities, the doctor settles back down in a back-less chair and scribbles for a moment before facing Ricardo. "What were your previous injuries?"

Startled, Ricardo jerks, remembering his earlier stop at the ER. "The doctor told me moderate concussion, a couple cracked ribs and whiplash."

"Incredible," the doctor mumbles, quickly looking him over once more. "How do you feel?"

"Sore all over," he admits tiredly. "My vision is still messed up too... but I don't feel _that_ different from earlier."

"What do you know. You were lucky. I'm not seeing any major worsening of your condition, based on what you told me. I'll want to run some tests just to make sure, but so far... I'd say you're gonna be fine. Do you have paperwork from the ER visit?"

He bites his lip, trying to think. "I... it would probably be in the car." As the doctor makes a note of that and tells one of the lingering nurses to notify the police they'll need whatever paperwork they find, Ricardo ponders over the doctor's words. He's unable to feel very lucky, especially when he thinks of how still the usually animated Alberto had looked the last time he had seen him. "Can I see Alberto soon?"

Dr. Olmstead pauses, considering his patient. "I'm not sure what's going on with him. I can have a nurse check, but first we'll get you in a room. I want to keep you for awhile, just to make sure I haven't overlooked anything." He taps a pen against the clipboard, the repetitively dull thudding of plastic against wood adding to Ricardo's tension, before he pushes the chair back, standing. "A nurse will be in shortly with a wheelchair to take you to your room."

He nods grimly, hands clenching into fists around the gown they had him change into while he waited, his stained shirt resting on the counter across the room. He shifts, wincing slightly as his midsection protests the movement and runs a hand over his face, sighing. _Please be ok, El Patron._

He's still sitting there, staring blankly ahead, when a nurse pushes her way into the room, bringing a wheelchair with her. She smiles up at him calmly and he focuses on her bright name tag as she locks the chair in place before joining him. _Gwen._ "Are you ready to get out of here?"

"Yes," he agrees decisively, pushing himself away from the examination table. "My room..." He hesitates, licking his lips. "Can you tell me where Alberto Del Rio is?"

As she assists him to the chair, helping him to settle in and locking the foot rests in place, she tries to explain, "I'm not entirely certain, he's down the hall getting examined. By what I do know, however, he's going to be kept here for awhile; they're already preparing a room for him." She licks her lips and pauses before releasing a gusty breath. "It's in the ICU, Mr. Rodriguez."

Ricardo absorbs this for a moment, shaking his head worriedly. "His condition is severe then? I need to see him..."

"Dr. Olmstead wants to get you settled in first," she says quietly. "Once we know that your friend is in his own room, we'll take you to him. Alright?"

He's not thrilled with waiting alone or with a stranger in some hospital room but ultimately nods, gripping the arms of the wheelchair tightly as she pushes him out of the ER area.

Once the nurse bustles away, her patient secure where he's supposed to be, he passes the time staring out of the window just visible from the hospital bed. The room is small, only space for one bed, so he breathes a little easier at _not_ getting stuck with a rabid wrestling fan or something equally as mortifying. He's still peering out over the downtown area, watching as fog settles over the skyline at this early hour, when the nurse returns with a small smile.

"Mr. Rodriguez?" At his tired glance her way, she takes a deep breath, her voice softening. "Your friend is in his room now, I can take you to him... briefly."

His eyes light up slightly as she assists him back to the wheelchair. Even though he knows he _could_ walk if he absolutely had to, it's hospital procedure and his body is throbbing more and more, the adrenaline having faded away a long time ago, leaving the trauma of the pay per view and car accident to catch up with him finally.

As the long, unending hallways stretch out before them, he's relieved for _having_ the wheelchair, blinking slowly as the nurse turns him towards the elevators. "He's on the fourth floor," she explains softly as he peers over his shoulder at her, eyebrow raised curiously. "ICU."

He doesn't say anything to this, his hands gripping the wheelchair tightly as the elevator dings loudly, the nurse quickly pushing him out into the hallway and down towards the rooms. "Ten minutes and I'll come back for you, you need your rest too," the nurse says softly, pushing him to a stop outside of a room. At his reluctant nod- _just ten minutes?_- she pushes the door open and rolls him in.

He holds his breath as more of the room becomes visible to him, releasing it all in a whoosh as he spots Alberto for the first time since the ambulance. "Ay dio mios," he mumbles fretfully, gaze wet and horrified. "Alberto..."

The Destined One has many machines connected to him via tubes and wires, monitoring this and assisting that. He watches the thin lines on the screen of what appears to be the heart monitor, alternatively curious and disturbed that his friend's pulse has to be counted by this device. Finally pulling his attention away from all of them, he hesitantly rolls himself closer to Alberto's bed and stubbornly stands, grimacing as his midsection pulls. "Alberto," he breathes out, resting a hand lightly on top of Del Rio's head, rubbing circles against his forehead. "I'm here."

He's still standing there, mindlessly running his fingers against Del Rio's skin, needing the connection more than anything else in this moment, when the door slips open and the nurse from before returns. He gazes over his shoulder at Gwen and murmurs, "What's wrong with him?"

She looks unsettled as she looks over at the unconscious man, her lips parting slightly as she takes in a deep breath. "The doctor hasn't talked to you yet?"

"No," Ricardo murmurs, allowing his hand to fall back to his lap. "Can you tell me anything?"

Hands running quickly through her blonde hair, she considers him, licking her lips anxiously. "This is all second hand, from the ICU nurse so I'm not sure if it's completely true but I'll tell you the bits of what I've heard and pieced together. He's not expected to wake up right away... They haven't gotten results from all of the tests they've run but so far they know he has a pretty serious head injury. Because of that, they're keeping a close eye on him," she hedges, staring sharply at Ricardo as he turns to look at his friend, paling harshly

He leans forward, watching Alberto breathing for a few moments, as he remembers the eerie silence from his friend following the car accident. "No, no..."

Gwen gives him a moment longer before resting a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, let's get you to your room. You need your rest." When he looks like he's about to argue with her, she shakes her head at him. "To be strong for him. He's gonna need you. If you pass out here from exhaustion, it won't help him at all."

He grimaces, giving in with one final glance to his friend as she starts to guide the chair back into the hallway. _I'll be back as soon as possible. Hang on._

"Here we are," she says quietly, pulling the chair to a stop next to his hospital bed. He nods vaguely, taking in a deep breath as she helps him stand. His ribs protest every movement, his eyes squeezing shut against the pain, but finally he's settled into the bed safely and she aptly bundles him beneath sheets and blankets. "Do you need anything?"

The list of possible answers for that is long and sundry but he leans against his pillows more thoroughly, wiped out, and shakes his head. "No, thank you."

"Alright. Here's the call button," she says, holding the remote-type device up and putting it on top of the sheets near his arm. "If you need anything, press the red button. Get some sleep, alright?"

He nods with a grimace, his hands rubbing across his painful rib cage. _Sure... like I can sleep right now._ Pressing the back of his head against the headboard, he stares at the ceiling and sighs. _Wake up soon, Alberto. Please._

After a few hours of restless attempts at sleep and a long discussion with a not very thrilled Dr. Olmstead, Ricardo is released from the hospital early that evening, immediately going back to Alberto's room. His condition hasn't changed, the older man motionless and silent. The only sound in the room is the heart monitor still tracking his vitals. Ricardo bites his lip as he forces himself to walk up to the bed, peering down at his friend. "Oh God," he sighs, sinking into the hard plastic chair nearby. "I had hoped..."

He's still sitting there, staring vacantly, when there's a soft knock on the door. Looking over, he finds Gwen watching them with a sympathetic smile. As he turns back to the bed, she ventures into the room, a couple of large plastic baggies in hand. "Mr. Rodriguez, I was told to bring you these."

"What is it?"

She releases a soft breath before resting both bags in front of Ricardo, careful not to disrupt anything around or connected to Alberto. "These are your things, what was taken from you by the EMTs and at your arrival here." She shifts a hand, rests it on the second bag. "These... are Alberto's." As he touches them reverantly, she kneels down so they're eye to eye and peers at him. "These can't leave the hospital, they can only leave with Alberto... but I thought it might offer you some comfort to watch over them yourself."

He turns sharply when her words register with him and clutches at the bag, his hands trembling slightly around the plastic. "Thank you," he finally manages.

"Is there anything else I can get you?"

"No," he whispers softly, focus entirely on the bag in his lap. As she leaves, he tugs the bag open and starts rifling through it. Alberto's scarf is inside, along with his phone, which had made it through the accident unharmed. His wallet, the hotel key card and a set of keys for one of his other many cars settle at the bottom of the bag and Ricardo releases a deep breath, setting them down on the bed.

"El Patron..." He presses his hand against the cool plastic of the other man's cell phone and shakes his head, shuddering. "What do I do?"

He curls in on himself, his forehead brushing against the edge of Alberto's bed as he listens, listens, listens to the repetitive beats of the heart machine overhead. "This can't be happening..."

Sitting back up, he stares fretfully at his still motionless friend, who at any other time would be lecturing him to not show weakness like this. As much as he hates it, he would give almost anything to hear that lecture right now. "Alberto..."

Hours have passed with him sitting near Alberto, listening to the repetitive beeping of the heart monitor at the front of the bed, when there's muffled footsteps behind him. He chooses to ignore the sound until Gwen rests a hand on his shoulder, attracting his attention. "Mr. Rodriguez, you have company," she says softly.

"Who is it?" he wonders, hand brushing circles against Alberto's wrist. When she doesn't answer for a moment, he half-turns in the chair, catching sight of the person in his peripheral. Gulping slightly, he turns completely and stares. "Brodus Clay?"

"Hey, Ricardo." The larger man stands next to him and peers at his former mentors with a frown. "Everyone at Raw's talking about you two. I just wanted to drop in and see how things are going before the show starts." His frown deepens as he takes in the pale former WWE champion, the large gauze bandage along his forehead, spotted here and there with dried blood.

"Not very well," he hedges. "He hasn't... woke up since the accident. They say... they say he has a head injury. All they can do is keep an eye on him, and wait. And hope." His voice trails off as he clenches his fists in his lap.

They sit quietly for awhile before Brodus turns to look at him, a sympathetic gleam in his dark eyes. "Honestly, Ricardo, I'm a big guy. Not a lot in my life has unnerved me but there were moments... Del Rio's anger, at times, that did it."

Ricardo nods vacantly, knowing what he means quite well, though why it needs discussing _here_, now, is avoiding him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Something like this, a _car accident,_ can't diminish that kind of fire, you know? You just have to give it time."

Ricardo releases a deep sigh, frowning down at Alberto. "Hopefully we'll _have_ time..."

Brodus grows even more awkward, dropping a large hand on his shoulder, squeezing slightly. "Don't lose faith, man. He wouldn't want you sitting here waiting for the worst to happen." Ricardo knows he speaks the truth, it's just hard when the Mexican aristrocat looks so uncharacteristically vulnerable...

Not long after Brodus leaves, Ricardo hears something ringing and recognizes the ring tone quickly, grabbing Alberto's cell phone out of the bag. "Hello? ... No," Ricardo whispers slowly, his heart sinking. "This is Ricardo Rodriguez. Alberto is... is unavailable at the moment. May I help you?" His eyes flicker over to his friend as he listens to the call, nodding unhappily. "Yes, I can be there shortly."

He flips the phone shut and leans over his friend. "Alberto, I have some things to handle. I will be back as soon as possible." He rests a hand on Del Rio's upper arm and forces a smile, even though the other man can't see it. Uncertain what else to say, Ricardo quietly leaves the room.

Awhile later, Ricardo taps his fingers anxiously against the seat of the taxi, peering out at the passing downtown scenery until he sees what he's looking for. As the taxi slows, he takes a deep breath. "Tow Depot," he mumbles, rolling his eyes slightly.

A pile of paper work is thrust in front of him as soon as he explains why he's there and he sets to filling out what he can, thankfully having the foresight to bringing Alberto's wallet with him to answer insurance and driver's license questions that otherwise he would've been unaware of. "Can I see the car?" he asks in the middle of this slough.

"Well, yes, but it's in bad shape," the man who had pushed the papers in front of him comments, having guessed by the blood within the car and the lack of its actual owner what had happened exactly. "Prepare yourself and follow me."

Ricardo takes a few deep breaths as they make their way through the office to the outside, where cars of all makes, models and condition are holed up behind a chain link fence. His eyes go right to Del Rio's car, its sleakness obvious amongst all the common cars, despite how beat up it is. He steps ahead of the man leading him and walks slowly towards it, as if magnetized.

His hands trailing along the top of the car, he leans down till eye level with the cracked driver's side window, biting his lip. The inside has remained untouched since the EMTs had left it, leaving behind every evidence of their time stuck within the vehicle.

He stares at it, troubled, for a long time, before moving to the damage caused by the accident directly- the warped hood, ruined left side of the car. It looks horrible in the spotlights, red paint chipped clear off what remains of the bumper like a bad nail polish job. His eyes shift to the interior of the car once more and he shakes his head, wishing again that his attempts to protect Alberto had been more worthwhile. _I'm sorry... so sorry, El Patron._

The young man working at the place gives him a few more minutes before returning to his side. "Sir? We need to discuss what you would like to do with the vehicle now." It's obvious by their attitudes that they're aware he's associated with a powerful, rich man. Money, after all, always talks.

He's just finishing with _more_ paperwork to send the car back to Alberto's ranch in Mexico when his cell phone rings. He pauses mid-signature, his mouth suddenly going dry. Something feels... _off_. "Excuse me," he mumbles, dropping the pen and stepping away to answer the device. "Hello?" He listens for only moments before paling, just managing to not drop the phone. "I'll be right there."

He's so flustered as he hangs the phone up that when one of the men lean over the desk to address him, he flinches away. "Sorry, didn't mean to..." He pauses and attempts again. "Sir, we can drop you off somewhere if you need?"

It requires no thinking as he nods, not wanting to wait for a taxi. _No, no, no,_ he thinks desperately, hands clenched in his lap the whole trip over.

Once back at the hospital, he ignores the ever present nurse trying to explain to him what had happened, not interested in the medical terms he vaguely registers as he marches into Alberto's hospital room and comes to a sudden stop at the door, his hand clenching the frame. "Oh, God."

Gwen stops short too, letting Ricardo take a minute as he hesitantly enters the room to get a better look. Alberto, still pale and motionless, now looks all the more vulnerable, a bright blue tube running into his mouth. "Wha... what is this? What happened?" he demands, his eyes welling up.

She rests her hand on his shoulder briefly before entering the room to check Del Rio's vitals. "We had him on oxygen because his levels were too low, as you know." At Ricardo's nod, she continues gently. "Shortly after you left, he began showing more serious signs of respiratory distress. He has no living will on record advising against it, so we began ventilation to ease the strain on his body."

Ricardo sinks into the chair next to the bed and watches the machine assist in Alberto's breathing. "What does this mean?" His voice, usually his biggest asset, strong and confident, sounds weak and shaky.

Her gaze passes along the machinery before she rests a hand carefully on Ricardo's slumped shoulders. "It means his body will have more of a chance to fight, get stronger. Heal, while the machine handles everything else. It's not neccessarily a bad thing."

Ricardo nods grimly, taking this in. "How long will he need to remain on the machine?"

"However long it takes," Gwen comments softly. "Don't dwell on it, and remember it's here to _help_ him, no matter how bad it might look."

He nods vacantly, barely registering her words as he leans forward. "Alberto..." Taking this as her cue, the nurse leaves them alone and Ricardo relaxes a little, abandoning the chair after awhile to rest next to Del Rio on the bed. He carefully adjusts the bedding around the Mexican aristocrat, hands moving slow and gentle around the wires and tubes leading to and from the other man's body.

He sighs, watching him briefly before his eyes flutter shut. The bed is far from comfortable but he had been on his feet a good portion of the past few hours, despite the soreness from the car accident still with him, the shock of finding Alberto like this adding to his body's exhaustion. He tries to blink awake once more but it's a losing battle, his need for rest slowly winning over as he sinks down next to Alberto, his fingers curling lightly against Alberto's arm.

_Ricardo..._

He jerks, his fingers tightening slightly. Eyes rolling around beneath his lids, he mouths something quietly and presses his forehead against Alberto's shoulder, drawn by the warmth.

When he awakens, the sun is gleaming brightly through the thin drapes right across his face, his face scrunched up as he squints into it. Gwen is bustling around, whispering apologies to him as she adjusts the blinds so the sun is blocked from the room.

He sits up and scrubs his hands along his face, only briefly mortified that he'd fallen asleep on Del Rio's hospital bed, and slept through the night, no less. "How is he?"

"He has stabilized," she says calmly, her name tag flashing blindingly in the softer early morning light. "The ventilator is doing its job." Her lips curve upwards comfortingly as she resumes making notes of Alberto's vitals. "He's a fighter."

"Yes he is," Ricardo murmurs quietly as the nurse leaves with her notes. "Now he just has to wake up." Despite being a hospital bed, it's comfortable and Alberto is warm, his pure bone-weariness making it difficult to get up completely from the mattress.

Grimacing, he leans over and runs a hand over Alberto's forehead, taking care not to jostle the ventilation tube. "You're not as pale," he mumbles. "That's a good thing." He's reluctant to touch the other man for too long, on the offshot he should hit one of the wires keeping Alberto as stable as he is, so he does eventually pull away, settling back down in the chair close to the bed.

As he wakes up more, something nags at him and he groans, rubbing his hands over his face. His hands tremble as he shakes his head. "I think I was hearing your voice," he mumbles to the unmoving Mexican Aristocrat. "In my sleep... but that makes no sense. You can't talk." He sighs. "A dream, I guess. Or maybe I'm losing it."

He's still sitting there a few hours later, watching the heart monitor quietly, hypnotized by the repetitive beating and whoosh-click sound of the ventilator when a large hand drops on his shoulder, almost sending him clear out of the chair. He doesn't even turn around as he regains his balance. "Hello, Brodus."

"Ricardo," the large man greets him before dropping down in another chair. "He looks..." His deep voice drifts off as he peers over at his former NXT pro, unsure how to proceed.

Ricardo ignores the strained silence, his thumb rubbing circles in his friend's arm that is free of IVs. "He was having difficulties yesterday. They tell me the ventilator is only there to assist him while his body heals. I choose to believe them."

"Of course." Brodus turns his focus back to the younger man and sighs slightly. "How long have you been here?"

Ricardo blinks slowly for a few moments, shaking his head. "What day is it?"

"Tuesday," the big man says, his worry ratcheting up all the more at the distant look in Rodriguez's eyes.

"I left for awhile last night to take care of the car," he recalls, the memory feeling like a dream due to everything that had come afterwards. Spotting the worried, exasperated look on his former rookie's face, Ricardo huffs slightly. "I'm not leaving him. I did that once and this happened."

"Your leaving here didn't make this happen," he responds after a few moments of shocked silence. "He... he's just been through a lot."

Troubled gaze locked on Del Rio, Ricardo shakes his head. "If I had moved a little faster..."

"Ricardo, come on. You're honestly blaming yourself for this?" When no response comes from the smaller man, Clay grumbles, rubbing his eyes. "Damn." He drops his large hands on Rodriguez' shoulders, causing the younger man to jerk. "Think for a minute. Over the last year, how many times have you protected Alberto in this business alone?"

"This is different," he whispers. "It's not supposed to be like this."

"Of course it isn't," Brodus sighs. "You still did the best you could, though." They sit in awkward silence for a few minutes until the big man glances at the clock hanging by the door. "I have to go now though, my flight's soon. You hang in there, alright?" At Ricardo's slow nod, he pauses only momentarily, watching them, before turning for the door. "If anything happens, you call."

"Of course," the ring announcer murmurs distractedly, brushing some hair off Alberto's forehead. When he turns to look a few moments later, Brodus is gone. He sighs tiredly.

He fusses with Alberto's bedding for a bit, adjusting it around his chest, energy slipping through his fingers once more as more and more time passes. After almost two full days in this hospital, even a hotel bed sounds lovely but he's unwilling to leave Alberto's side. The fact that the nurses hadn't fought him more on staying this long leaves him with a sick taste in his mouth, the thought of what it all could possibly mean for Alberto's true condition nagging at him. His eyes fluttering, he cushions his head against his arms on the edge of Alberto's bed and releases a deep, troubled breath.

He's dozed off, listening once more to the soft rumble of Alberto's thick accent cutting through the darkness, when _it_ happens. The familiar beeps that had started to feel like a part of his soul by now begin to falter, drift away into nothingness. By the time he peels his eyes open, the noise has become one long, piercing tone that he's only heard on TV shows and in movies before. Even so, he knows exactly what it is, tears pricking at his eyes as he gazes up at the former world champion from his awkward position half-sprawled across his bed.

"No," he chokes as doctors and nurses rush in at an attempt to revive Alberto, one of the women- Gwen, he thinks vacantly- gently pushing a frozen Ricardo out of the way. He leans against a corner of the room and watches on in horror as needles flash, medical terms are thrown around that he doesn't understand. Minutes pass and they fight on, and on, and on but he's known from the moment he awoke to that noise- it was too late. Alberto Del Rio is gone.

Time of death is called- he'll never forget hearing 6:49 PM echoing throughout the silent hospital room for as long as he lives- and the doctors and nurses slowly leave, Nurse Gwen having convinced them to give Ricardo some final time with the Mexican Aristocrat. She touches him on the arm gently as she passes, smiling sympathetically. He barely looks at her, his eyes locked on the motionless, lifeless form on the bed before him.

As soon as he's alone in the room, he ventures slowly out of the corner, feet dragging him to the bed like he's magnetized to it. He rings his hands for a few moments, flashes of his friendship with Alberto running through his mind- the joy on his face when he had won the WWE title, the happiness when Ricardo himself had returned after Money in the Bank. Many other moments like that that had meant so much to both men.

He sucks in a deep breath, his eyes glassy with exhaustion and sadness. "El Patron..." He ignores the chair pushed roughly against the wall in the madness of only five minutes earlier and sits on the bed next to Del Rio, bracing himself as he reaches forward and brushes a hand through Alberto's hair, marveling at how soft it feels when free of product. "I'm so sorry," he chokes out, gripping the former world champion's hand carefully. "I should've been quicker... this should be me, not you." He knows that Alberto would smack him upside the head for saying such things but he can't help what he feels as he leans over his friend once more and takes him in, free of tubes and wires for the first time in what feels like forever now that they are needless. "Please... forgive me..."

When exactly he falls asleep, he's not sure, but he embraces the darkness, the numbness.

_"Ricardo..._"

He gasps out loud, the sound echoing into the nothingness surrounding him, his soul torn as he listens. It can't be, but he's still somehow hearing Alberto's voice in his dreams.

"_They say you can probably hear me. If this is true, you gotta listen to me. I tire of this place, don't you?_ Please,_ Ricardo... Open your eyes."_

It's so confusing, and everything hurts so much, his thoughts running in endless, maddening circles- _Alberto is dead... Alberto is talking to me... Dead...dead..._

He hears the well-familiar annoyed huff of the former world champion and _almost_ smiles, picturing the matching look on Del Rio's face. The brief moment of levity is trashed, however, when he remembers that Alberto is dead and he will never see that, or any other, look on the Mexican Aristocrat's face. He drifts in the darkness for awhile longer, emotions that he's held back since the accident in an attempt to appear strong for Del Rio now overwhelming him.

"_Are you... crying?" _A question that would've left him mortified in the past barely incites a reaction as he mourns, somehow feeling something physical- a tentative touch along his face, brushing under his eyes, down his cheeks. _"Ricardo..."_ The touch shifts, his pain cresting into a tidal wave of agony as hands pull him into a sitting position and he can't help but wonder why it hurts so much. Warm arms wrap around his back, pressing him closer until he's breathing in a familiar cologne, the scent dragging him closer to the surface.

His eyes are open now, his vision unfocused and spotty. He releases a weak breath, wondering what happened between his falling asleep and now to make him feel so weak, so... pathetic. Something familiar and warm is still supporting him, however, so he doesn't question it right away, melting into the long-missing comfort.

"Ricardo..."

He freezes, his breathing picking up slightly as he recognizes the voice whispering into his ear now. _There's... there's no chance... I saw him... die..._ His body further taxed by his heart racing and his lungs heading towards hyperventilation, he slips back into the welcoming darkness.


	2. Next To Me Part 2

He's not sure how much time has slipped by when he forces his eyes open once more, cold and in a little less pain than before. He can just make out the shapes in the room now, the bright light from earlier muted into quiet darkness. He shivers, his whole body twitching with the movement. As he struggles to breathe deeply, his chest throbbing up into his neck, he gasps loudly and groans, remembering- remembering... _Alberto is dead..._ It feels like a knife through his chest and he tilts his face, realizing that he's alone. Whereas before he had fallen asleep clinging to his friend's hand, he's now laying on an empty hospital bed.

His eyes shoot open once more and he struggles to sit up, blinding pain forcing its way through his system from so many places at once that he can't concentrate on anything _but_ moving, escaping it.

"Ricardo!" he thinks he hears distantly but ignores it, still trying awkwardly to free himself from the uncomfortable contours of the bed. A strong grip appears on his shoulders, tries to carefully ease him back down on the pillows.

"No!" he groans, fighting. The person is being careful with him, for whatever reason, and it makes it easy to slap the hands away but he barely shifts up another agonizing inch when arms wrap tightly around him, warmth he vaguely remembers from earlier enveloping him. Tears prick at his eyes as he clings to the body half-pinning him down, trying to gain the energy to fight this off, too. "No," he chokes. "No, no. Let me go. I need... need to find him..."

The grip softens, arms shift across his back up and down soothingly. "Find who, Ricardo?" He thinks distantly that the voice is _too_ familiar, one he should know no matter what, but it's just not possible. Even so, he sinks into the touch and releases a shuddery, pained breath. "I'll call the doctor..."

Despite his previous desperation to be free, he tightens his grip on the collared shirt before him, shaking his head as he all but chokes on a sudden flash of fear at the prospect of being alone again, however briefly. "No... no. Please, don't leave me alone." Scraping together the last bits of his energy, he pulls himself back slightly and stares up, takes in Alberto Del Rio's worried face with breathless wonder. Other than a couple healing cuts that he touches with a trembling hand, the man looks fine, if a little tired and fretful. After a few moments, Ricardo's face falls. "Are we dead...?"

Alberto's lips sag slightly as he gapes at the younger man in confusion. "What? No!" There's an awkward, strained pause as the two men stare at each other, Ricardo teetering on the brink of sleep once more, his body taxed beyond its limited means. "Whatever would make you think that, Ricardo?"

"You died," he whispers, his eyes fluttering closed despite his obvious struggle to stay awake. Before Del Rio can figure out what to say to that, the ring announcer is asleep once more.

When his eyes open once more, it's much darker inside the room. Quieter. The repetitive beeps that had been racing when he awoke before are now slow, regular sounds that almost succeed in lulling him back to sleep. A soft touch on his forehead drifting down to his arm is the only thing that keeps him awake, his eyes shifting slightly to peer at Alberto Del Rio. "You're here?" he asks, mind still a little muddled. His memories are scattered. "I..."

"Yes, I am here. And we're both alive." He looks confused at this, dark eyebrows scrunching together, as Del Rio smiles tiredly at him.

"You look exhausted," he notes with a deeper frown. "What... where are we?"

"Philadelphia. Do you remember?" Alberto waits as Ricardo tries to sort things out, his breath catching when he recalls a flash of something.

"We were in a car accident?" His eyes gleaming in the dim light, he reaches forward and tugs at Alberto's sleeve. "Are- are you ok?"

"You are the one in the hospital bed," he chides quietly, carefully freeing his shirt from Ricardo's grip. "I'm fine, just a little cut up." He sobers, sandwiching Rodriguez' still hovering hand between his own, avoiding the cast covering from his wrist up to the middle of his arm. It's the first Ricardo's noticed the plaster, his eyes locked on it in worried confusion. "I'm fine because of _you._"

"What?"

"_Menso_, what were you thinking?" he asks softly, squeezing the other man's fingers grimly. When Ricardo still looks confused, Alberto leans forward and begins to speak quietly. "We _were_ in a car accident, yes. But _you,_ you shielded me. You have been unconscious for nearly three days, Ricardo."

He closes his eyes, breathing ragged as flashes of memory return- the black ice, Alberto cursing, Ricardo moving to protect him, and then waking up in the hospital to find Alberto comatose, dying... until now, until this. He shakes his head, gaze wet and heavy when he finally opens his eyes once more. "I, I don't understand," he mumbles. "Was it a dream?"

"Was what a dream?" They're interrupted when Gwen enters and begins checking Ricardo over, his dark eyes tracking her every movement in confusion. She looks familiar, but somehow not.

"The doctor will be in shortly," she says softly once done, folding the chart up carefully after noting Ricardo's vitals. "It's good to see you awake." With a side glance to Alberto, she turns and leaves.

"That, that was..."

"Your nurse, Gwen." There's a strange look of recognition on Ricardo's face that troubles Alberto but the younger man still looks exhausted, oddly delicate like one wrong move or word would break him anew, so he lets it go and sits silently as Ricardo re-adjusts to consciousness.

They run more tests a couple hours later; despite having run them multiple times already. With Ricardo conscious once more, they want to make sure nothing else worrisome is going to show up. As they wait for results, Alberto sits with Ricardo and tells him bits and pieces of the past few days. Ricardo's hands trail over the soft, mesh fabric of the jersey that had been given to Del Rio by a wellmeaning fan at an autograph signing for Ricardo before he awoke, his lips twitching slightly as he listens on.

When the results come in and Dr. Olmstead claims that the tests appear normal, Alberto releases a deep breath before facing the doctor. "I want the specialist that I hired to look at them as well," he demands, piercing gaze locked on the auburn haired man. "He should be here shortly."

Undettered, Olmstead shrugs, replacing the results into Ricardo's records. "Fine, have me paged when he arrives. I have rounds but I won't be far."

As he walks off, Alberto turns to find Ricardo staring at him curiously. "What?"

"Nothing," he says with another small smile, shifting to find a more comfortable position on the bed while they wait.

"May I ask you something?" Del Rio asks after a few moments, hesitantly resting on the edge of the bed facing Ricardo.

"Yes?"

"When you regained consciousness... you said something." He hesitates, trying to think of a proper way to word it when Ricardo shakes his head, hand tightening around the thin sheet bunched around his midsection. "Ricardo...?"

"I," he licks his lips. "I had... a bizarre dream." He stares down at his hands, a troubled look on his face. It makes no sense to him yet either, so the very thought of trying to explain it to Alberto is beyond him. His hands flutter helplessly before Alberto leans over, stills them with his own. He looks hesitant, sad as he recalls what had happened before he'd woke up here. "It's complicated and a little blurry... I don't feel like sharing it."

He's visibly displeased with Ricardo's lack of forthcoming but somehow decides to drop it, choosing instead to go search out the doctor. He's almost out of the door when Ricardo's voice stops him.

Shifting anxiously, Ricardo takes a deep breath. "I... This place..." He looks around with a troubled gaze, turning towards the heart monitor connected to his own body, and Alberto doubts his decision just to let the earlier, vague statements go. "I can't stay here." He looks at Alberto with such an overwhelming flood of emotions that it makes Del Rio feel off-balanced, fretful. "Can... can you ask the doctor if I can be discharged soon?"

There's a long, heavy pause as the two stare at each other. Finally Alberto nods grimly, realizing that Ricardo won't be comfortable here, something about the hospital leaving him tense and stressed. He's not a doctor but even he can tell by the pattern of the heart monitor that he's far from calm. "I'll ask around. Rest, Ricardo." As the younger man settles into a more comfortable position, his eyes fluttering shut, Alberto leaves the room, looking out the window in the hallway at the chilly mid-December afternoon as he tries to calm down. It's hard to watch him sleep, discomforting memories of his long unconscious period still all too fresh in the Mexican Aristocrat's mind.

That evening, after Alberto discusses his test results in detail with both the specialist and Dr. Olmstead, Ricardo is discharged from the hospital. His main injuries are a couple cracked ribs, a concussion that had been exacerbated by the wreck, a broken wrist, badly strained neck muscles and too many scrapes and bruises to count. All in all, he's a very sore man and getting him back to the hotel takes a very long time, Del Rio having to support him through the lobby as his ribs protest each movement. "_Esta bien, esta bien_," he repeats softly as they wait in the elevator. The other man remains silent the whole elevator ride and the time it takes to arrive at their hotel room, obviously trying to manage his pain, not vocalize it.

Alberto sighs, looking over at his ring announcer once they're finally inside and Ricardo's settled on the opposite bed. He's still uncertain if the other man should've been released from the hospital this soon after waking from his coma-like state, but the doctor had run every test imaginable, and the specialist Alberto had hired agreed with Dr. Olmstead's findings, so there was only so much Del Rio could do. Ricardo had been so anxious to leave, it seemed like torture to make him stay... The only comfort Del Rio has is that the hospital is a short drive away.

And thus they sit in this hotel room, Alberto sorting through the things recovered from the crash as Ricardo stares down at the bag of his own items the hospital had given to them upon his discharge. He listens to Ricardo's agitated mumbles upon catching sight of his fairly new iPad, its screen shattered and all but worthless in the bottom of the bag. It had been the first thing Ricardo had noticed, some of his old energy returning before he set the broken piece of technology aside and continued going through the bag grimly. He snaps out of his thoughts as he realizes that Ricardo has been sitting very still at the edge of the bed for the past few minutes, his expression just out of Alberto's line of sight. Abruptly worried, the Mexican aristocrat pushes his own things aside and joins Ricardo, surprised to find the younger man gazing down at the jeans and white high-collared shirt he had been wearing at the time of the accident. "Ricardo?"

Barely flinching at the sudden sound of his voice, shaky fingers continue passing up and down the fabric. The last time he had seen these clothes, they had been soaked in blood.

Del Rio's breath seizes in his throat and he moves to the edge of the bed, kneeling down in front of Ricardo. "Ricardo? Is there something wrong with the clothes?" he asks soothingly, hands resting lightly on the younger man's knees. Gaining no response from this, he leans forward and presses his hands to Ricardo's, pulling them away from the fabric. "Look at me," he commands, taking great care with Ricardo's braced wrist. Wet, pained eyes meet his vision and he shakes his head sadly, gently running Ricardo's good hand across the shirt once more. "We can throw them away, if you wish. Burn them. Whatever you think will help."

The words finally seem to connect with Ricardo, his gaze shifting across the room, taking in Alberto's obviously high-end taste in hotels, his things scattered around the bed across from them. _That's right, it was a dream._ His concussion-adled mind is not helping in the slightest in remembering where the dream ended and reality began. "You... I," he sucks in a deep, pained breath and groans, his still tender midsection throbbing. "Oh God. I... I'm so confused."

Alberto moves once more, this time sitting next to Ricardo and wrapping a secure arm around his shoulders, drawing the trembling man into his side. "I know, I know. It'll be fine, I'm gonna take care of you. I'm not going anywhere."

"Thank you," the ring announcer murmurs after a few moments, pressing his cast against his own chest as Alberto supports him in a rare moment of affection.

"You should sleep. There are things to do tomorrow."

Ricardo blinks. "Oh?"

Alberto smiles over at the ring announcer. "You'll see in the morning. Now, rest." He slips away from Ricardo, hovering near by just to see if his help will be needed as he shifts, grimaces, and finally pulls himself backwards to rest against the headboard, supported by some pillows.

"Not tired," he mumbles as Alberto peers at him curiously. His words, however, are disproven as he yawns directly afterwards.

"Of course not." He's asleep within five minutes, Del Rio chuckling softly as he adjusts Ricardo so he's not sleeping in such an awkward position, wrapping sheets around him more snuggly.

The next morning, Ricardo is still asleep when Alberto puts his plans into motion, taking his cell phone out into the hall so as not to disturb his rest. "Hello? Yes, I would like your services for later today-"

Over half an hour later, he re-enters the hotel room to find his ring announcer still out, his eyes crinkling slightly as he watches him. It's not until there's a knock at the door that he begins to stir, sighing softly. Del Rio grins as he heads over to answer the door, holding a finger to his lips as the hotel worker wheels in a room service cart quietly. Del Rio tips him and waits patiently until he's gone, the door clicking softly behind him, to pull the lids from the plates.

The food, scrambled eggs with cheese and bacon, alongside blueberry pancakes, sausages, milk and two fresh mugs of coffee, looks satisfactory so he hums as he turns back to Ricardo. His eyes are fluttering already as Alberto returns to his side, probably drawn by the smells. The former world champion smiles as he carefully detangles Ricardo's casted wrist from the sheets, uncertain how the younger man always manages to get himself into that state while asleep. "Ricardo," he murmurs.

He responds immediately, his eyes open within seconds. "Yes?" Alberto grins, relieved to see things slowly returning to normal. "What do you need?"

Del Rio's eyes soften slightly as he brushes fingers through sleep mussed hair. "I need you to help me eat this breakfast." As Ricardo sits up, blinking sleepily, the Mexican aristocrat wheels the cart closer, watching with a smile as the younger man peers at the spread. Alberto collects his own plate before settling in at the end of Ricardo's bed, half-watching as the younger man works one-handed at getting his own food, his casted wrist held close to his chest once more. "How do you feel?"

Ricardo glances over at him briefly before resting the glass of milk back against the tray, in easy reach of where he's laying. As he settles onto the bed once more, he grimaces. "Sore," he admits quietly before beginning to eat.

Alberto nods, eyes crinkling sympathetically as he considers the day's plans. _I am a genius._ They eat quietly for awhile, Del Rio keeping an eye on the time the whole way. It's not until the fifth watch check that he notices Ricardo peering at him curiously. "What?"

"Do you have somewhere to be? Because I'll be fine alone..." he murmurs, flushing slightly when Alberto's eyes sharpen.

"I don't have somewhere to be, no. But _we_ do," he comments calmly, carefully not looking up as Ricardo gapes at him. "As I said last night, much is to be done today."

"Oh... great." The younger man sounds doubtful, proving that he's feeling more than just _sore._"I'm sorry, El Patron, but-"

Alberto looks up from his food, grinning a rare but sincere grin, similar and yet so different from the egotistical one he shows on TV. Ricardo is one of the few people who can tell the difference. "Trust me, Ricardo." Nothing more needs to be said, the doubt disappearing from his ring announcer's face. In response, Del Rio's eyes soften even more. "The food is good?"

"Yes, thank you."

Once they finish eating, Alberto collects the scattered dishes and pushes the cart out into the hall for the hotel staff to deal with. Once it's gone, he turns back to Ricardo and smiles. "Ready to get out of here for a bit?"

Ricardo looks uncertain; he had walked alright for the most part from the car to the elevator and from the elevator to the room the night before, but he has no idea where Alberto intends for them to go. _Trust,_ he reminds himself grimly before nodding. "Yes, alright." He slowly pulls the covers off of himself, standing almost hesitantly, testing his strength before he moves too far away from the bed. Even though he moves slowly, obviously in some discomfort, he shows no sign of faltering or falling. Despite this, Alberto keeps a close eye on him, never too far away. "Should I change?" he inquires, looking uncertainly at the sweat pants and baggy shirt he had fallen asleep in the night before.

"No need to," Alberto says with a small smile. "It won't matter." With a hand to the younger man's back, he leads him out of the room, ignoring the curious look on his face. Another elevator ride later, Ricardo carefully stepping to the side or back of the elevator whenever fellow hotel guests enter to avoid someone bumping into him and jostling his various injuries further, and they're wandering away from the lobby, Ricardo's dark eyebrows raising. Del Rio keeps stubbornly silent until they arrive at the door marked _Sauna. _"Here we are," he announces grandly.

"A sauna?" Ricardo peers inside at the divided dressing rooms just visible from this angle, his eyes wide.

"_Si._ This is a day of relaxation." He smiles wistfully. "A day of recovery. We both deserve it, yes?"

Ricardo nods quietly, biting his lip. As Alberto opens the door and waits, he hesitantly steps forward, unused to all of this. Alberto is the champion, he's just some ring announcer, easily replaceable. Expendable. Or so he had thought. Days like these make him second guess his own assumptions.

He steps into the dressing room and begins stuffing his clothes into a nearby locker before freezing as his hand moves just so and he gets a good look at his cast for the first time. He curiously takes in a carefully drawn shape on the underside of his wrist, a very familiar crest that nearly takes up a fourth of the cast. His jaw drops as he realizes only one could've taken the time to actually draw this. Once over his shock, he finishes up and waits for Alberto, who appears only a few moments later. The only clue that he, too, had been in a car accident only a few days ago the healing cuts along his arms, across his chest. The minor cuts along his face Ricardo had noted the day before were all but gone, leaving only small marks behind that would hopefully be completely gone within the next day or two. "Are you ready?" he asks, raising an eyebrow as Rodriguez examines him for any other injury, his first chance to really observe such things since his awakening.

"Yes," he murmurs, adjusting the large towel he's wrapped up in before walking to the wooden door leading into the sauna. He waits at the door, glancing over his shoulder when he realizes that Alberto hasn't moved.

"I'll be in in a moment," the former champion says with a vague smile. "Go ahead, relax, Ricardo."

"...Alright," he agrees reluctantly, pulling the door open with his good hand. As soon as he enters and the door slips shut behind him, he begins sweating, the steam immediately doing its thing. He settles down on a bench on the other side of the room, breathing deeply as the heat clings to his skin like a blanket. Tension slowly easing from his body, he sinks down more thorougly against the wall and closes his eyes, just taking it all in. He's very nearly dozed off when the door opens briefly, Alberto quietly making his way over to the opposing bench.

"How do you feel, Ricardo?"

"Good," he murmurs sleepily. Alberto's answering chuckle revives him briefly but the steam is so lulling that he only blinks a time or two before his eyelids grow heavy once more. Sleep had been hard to come by since his waking up, flashes of memory from that strange place he had been in previously coming to him at all times of the day _or_ night. He had tried to keep Alberto from knowing, claiming that his sleep was stilted because he _had_ been out for so long, but he doesn't think the other man's buying it. Even here, sleeping isn't all that comfortable despite how relaxed he feels, the whisper of those false memories just waiting to come out and strike at any moment. Ricardo trusts Alberto, yes, but this... this is something unexplainable, something all of the money in the world can't fix. It makes him feel fragile, weak. The last things he would ever want Alberto to see when looking at him.

Alberto watches him with a quietly thoughtful look on his face- despite obviously recovering physically, something is still bothering Ricardo, and it annoys him that even now things are being kept from him. Even so, he knows that whatever Ricardo is going through must be very bad if it's keeping him this distant, sleepless. Considering this day is to begin both of their recoveries- physically _and_ mentally- he's not about to mess it all up by picking an argument with the younger man. Maybe in the near future, if he continues looking worn down and easily breakable, but for now, Del Rio is content to leave it. And so he sits back and breathes in deeply, feeling more relaxed than he has in weeks, probably even months.

The twenty minutes allotted for them in this room ticks by insanely quickly. Alberto stretches lazily, checking his beeping waterproof watch that had been set to notify them. He taps it to quiet it before looking up at a confused, sleepy looking Ricardo. "It's time to go, Ricardo."

"Already?" he murmurs, already making his way to his feet, Del Rio quickly moving to be nearby so he has less chance of falling as he wakes up.

"Yes." Obedient as ever, Ricardo follows his instructions and takes a shower, the water cleaning away whatever the sauna had left behind and cooling him off at the same time; it only helps with his sleepiness enough to keep him from faceplanting into the fancy tile the hotel had decorated with. Once done, they meet up before heading to the lockers to get their things, Ricardo once more yawning blearily as they leave the sauna, now wrapped snugly up in cottony white robes that feel so soft against his skin.

He leads him away from the front lobby, taking another side door that leads to an impressively long hallway, lined with ornate doors on both sides. He watches them pass by curiously until Alberto stops before one, a small smile on his face. There are two chairs outside of it and he carefully pushes Ricardo down into the nearest one, lips twitching slightly as the ring announcer looks confused at the rapid change in his position. He doesn't bother explaining any of it as he settles down in the other chair, thinking about the set up that he had requested in the room they're waiting nearby.

Finding a _good_ medical masseuse on short notice would probably be impossible for almost anyone, he thinks smugly, but with his money and various connections, it hadn't taken that long. His face softens as he looks over at the patiently waiting Ricardo, still cooling down from the time they had spent in the sauna. "How are you feeling?"

"Good," he says quietly, eyes shut as he drifts, still lulled by the warmth seemingly suffused into his skin. "Really good. Thank you."

Alberto smiles, pressing his bare heels against the legs of the chair he's sitting in. _This isn't even the half of it. I can't wait to see his face..._ Finally there's a small chirp from his phone and he glances at it briefly before standing, resting a hand on Ricardo's hair. "Come, Ricardo. It's time to go inside."

The young man looks unhappy with this, so relaxed that he's almost melted into his chair, but even so he pulls himself up with little fuss and follows after Del Rio, running a hand over his face sleepily. He leaves it to Alberto to lead him with a sturdy hand between his shoulder blades as he yawns blearily, humming slightly to himself until he's stopped, the former world champion's hands pressing into his shoulders.

He waits, blinking tiredly as Alberto pulls the door open and peeks inside, his face lighting up almost immediately. "Ah! _Lucido!"_ He turns back around and wraps an arm around Ricardo's shoulders, his grin wider than it has been since the title loss back in November. It adds to the ring announcer's warmth to see his friend look so happy, barely mindful of anything else as he follows him into the room.

"_Pará!" _he swallows, blinking again and again as he tries to break through his sleepiness to take in what's waiting for him. Two massage tables are filling what must be the hotel's meeting room, soft incense burning nearby, not so much that it's overwhelming, but just the right amount to be noticeable.

Alberto takes pity on him with a slightly more subdued smile, rubbing careful circles against his neck. "I found a medical masseuse, she'll help you feel even better, if you want."

As nice as the sauna had been, a general sense of soreness still prevails, especially from his ribs and neck, and the mere thought of a massage sounds heavenly. He nods, staring at the nearest table. "Yes, I do."

Alberto's grin grows once more and he leads the other man over to the table, stepping back as he settles down on the surface, his head cushioned by ridiculously soft padding. As Ricardo sighs in comfort, Del Rio turns towards his own table, just laying down before the masseuses enter the room, talking softly to each other as they prepare for their patients.

"Ricardo," the Mexican Aristocrat says quietly once the women turn to them. "This is Dr. Alicia Garcia. She comes well recommended for her knowledge in medical massage."

She smiles at the comment. "Thank you, Mr. Del Rio. Mr. Rodriguez, are you ready to begin?"

As he nods and they talk quietly amongst themselves for a moment, Alberto's own masseuse walks up to him, a tag on her shirt showing her name to be Clarisa. "Mr. Del Rio," she greets him politely. "You are aware I'm a regular masseuse, yes? I don't have any training in medical massage."

"Si, I know. I was mostly uninjured in the car accident," he explains. "Ricardo, however, required something a little more... precise."

Her lips parting slightly as she glances over at the other table, she nods. "Very well, sir. Just making sure you understood."

Alberto only half listens to Clarisa quietly directing him to lay down as Dr. Garcia helps Ricardo take the robe off, his face tight with pain as moving his arms to shift the fabric off of him pulls at his ribs. Once it's gone, the woman releases a audibly strained breath, causing Alberto to hold a hand up to stop his own massage before it even truly begins, sliding off of his table. "Is there a problem?"

"Not a problem neccessarily," she hedges, shifting slightly as he stares down at what she's frowning at. Gauze is scattered across much of Ricardo's upper back, shoulder blades and neck, and small cuts are visible along the rest, startling Alberto until he recalls just how the windshield had shattered during the accident, raining them both with glass shards. Of course, with Ricardo shielding him from the wreck, he had taken the majority.

His teeth clenching, he recalls being in the hospital and hearing something about stitches while staring at his then-comatose friend, unable to look past his friend's closed eyes, the many machines monitoring his various functions. Leaning over to look Ricardo in the face, he frowns at him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Ricardo blinks tiredly, grimacing as he tries to focus on the other man. "There was enough going on, a couple cuts seemed like..."

"It's more than a couple cuts!" he snaps, taking a deep breath as the ring announcer cringes away from the anger in his voice. "Lo siento," he sighs, feeling bad at kicking the man when he's down. "It's just... I want to know these things, Ricardo. You... you were injured trying to protect me, and... I can't help you to the best of my ability unless I know what is going on with you."

A shuddery breath later, Ricardo nods. "I know," he mumbles. "You're right, of course. I just... don't want to impose on you any further." He feels even worse about keeping the dreams from his best friend, but thinking about how to explain it makes his head hurt.

"It's not an imposition," Alberto says in exasperation. He mumbles in Spanish, wondering how screwed up their friendship has been when explaining that his back is shredded like fresh cheese is beyond Ricardo, remembers how hesitant the ring announcer had been in accepting help when he had been injured by Big Show the summer prior. He toys with the edge of his robe before standing to face the doctor once more. "Will you still be able to help him?"

She's spent the time trying not to listen to their murmured conversation examining the injuries, nodding now hesitantly. "Yes, I think so. Carefully, of course. And avoiding as much of this area as I can. Some are beginning to heal, the rest I believe I can avoid. I'll do my best."

Alberto nods in relief, returning slowly to his own table, his senses overly sensitive as he listens to Ricardo's breathing which sounds uncharacteristically loud in the quiet room as the women begin to work over their tense muscles, attempting to ease their tension and pain. Dr. Garcia deserves every compliment he's heard about her as she works effeciently, Ricardo not even making one pained noise the whole time she works his back over.

Alberto is done first, Clarisa smiling at him as he hands her a sizeable roll of money before slipping off of the table easily, his movements even smoother than usual as he takes in how relaxed he feels, shifting his arms with a small smile. "How is it going?" he asks Dr. Garcia after a few moments of watching, a bit surprised at how much time she's taking with Ricardo.

She looks over at him and nods, quickly smoothing her hands once more along his spine before pulling away. "I've done what I can, considering." She pauses, humored, before turning to face him once more. "I'd ask him personally how he feels but I believe he's fallen asleep in the course of the massage."

Alberto's eyes widen as he looks down at his completely relaxed ring announcer, lips twitching as he realizes that indeed the other man's breathing holds the softness and regularity of sleep. "When is your next appointment?" he inquires, searching through his robes.

"Excuse me a moment," she says, pulling a smartphone from her own pocket to look at her schedule. "Not for another three hours."

He nods, satisfied. "He hasn't slept well since the accident... If you don't mind, may we keep the table here for a little while longer?" When she hesitates, he pushes more money at her. "Have lunch on me, I will call you when he's awake." She still looks uncertain and he calls upon all of his charm, grinning widely as his teeth glint in the overhead lights. "We won't make you miss your responsibilities. I promise. Ricardo needs rest and I haven't the heart to wake him up to move. Do you?"

She glances down at the peacefully resting man and wavers, her eyes softening. "Very well," she decides, collecting her things. "I will be back in an hour for the table."

His grin grows, becomes more sincere. "Thank you. If he awakens before then, I will call you." She nods, heading for the exit. As Clarissa concludes packing up her own table behind him, Alberto pulls a chair over near where Ricardo is sleeping and settles in to wait, content to listen to his friend's breathing. He's overwhelmed with relief that this time, it's not blocked out by the sounds of sickness and repetitive beeps the hospital had provided him as a soundtrack for days.

Almost a half an hour passes, Clarissa long gone, when Ricardo's whole body stiffens, his breathing becoming a weak, pained gasp that tears at Alberto. He quickly kicks the chair away, settling down on the table as Ricardo struggles, confused at the strange surface he's slept in. "No, no," he mumbles, straining and thrashing as Alberto rests a hand on his back, now almost _too _mindful of the various cuts marring his skin.

"Ricardo... Ricardo!" he snaps, forgoing his gentle attempts at getting the man to calm down, tightening his grip against his shoulders. "Relax! You're gonna hurt yourself."

Ricardo immediately stops, his breathing still loud and raspy but less worrisome as Alberto helps him sit up, their eyes locking as he slowly turns around on the table. His face is wet, miserable, and haunts Alberto for long afterwards. "Sorry, I'm sorry," he moans, arching forward until he rests against Del Rio's shoulder.

"Whatever for?" he asks, tangling his fingers in the soft, black hair at the nape of Ricardo's neck.

"Frea- freaking out like that," he whispers faintly, shaking his head. "I... for a minute, I forgot."

"Forgot what, Ricardo?"

"That I woke up." The oddly chilling words hang in the air between them; Alberto says nothing, trying to work through the comment as he holds Ricardo up, recalling other similiar statements that had left him confused and uncertain about his ring announcer's wellbeing following the accident.

He decides reluctantly to drop it for now, another question nagging at him as he stares down at the pale, exhausted, barely holding on man still leaning against him, fingers twitching against the edge of his robe. "Ricardo?"

"Yes?"

"Come back to Mexico with me. For Christmas. If you want." The brief flare of _life_ in Ricardo's gaze as he looks up makes Alberto feel slightly better about his decision to hold off on voicing his worries for now.

"Are you sure?"

Alberto smiles mirthlessly, wondering once more what he had become to put that look of uncertainty on Ricardo's face; after months of sacrificing the other man for his own agendas, only rewarding him now and again for what he accomplishes, it's no wonder but still... He brushes his fingers up across his scalp, chuckling as Ricardo leans into the touch. "Of course, Ricardo. We both deserve the best Christmas... and that, of course, shall be in _Mexico._"

There's a moment or two of silence where Alberto wonders what he's thinking, but finally Ricardo looks up, smiling slightly. "I would be honored, El Patron."


	3. Next To Me Part 3

They arrive in Mexico mid-afternoon the next day, Ricardo looking even more pale and tired after the long flight, a headache dogging him after the rapidly changing pressure in the cabin since they've only gotten brief breaks on the ground after hurrying to catch connections that sends them the rest of the way to an airport relatively near to Alberto's ranch. A car and driver is waiting for them there, the man quickly dragging their bags into the trunk as they collapse into the back seat, Ricardo's eyes fluttering shut almost immediately.

The drive, however, doesn't take that long so it's not even been half an hour later when Alberto reaches over, gently shaking the ring announcer to wakefulness once more, the soft glow from his ranch lighting the way as Ricardo stirs, looks around in confusion. "Where are we?" he asks sleepily, reaching up to rub at his eyes. Alberto, expecting this due to experiences from the past few days, carefully grabs his hand, stopping him from scraping his skin with the rough surface of his cast. Confused only briefly, he quickly switches hands before turning to look at the large home spreading out to greet them across the equally impressive lawn "Wow."

Alberto smiles. "Welcome to my home, Ricardo." They had dropped by briefly during the past tour of Mexico, both too exhausted from the flight to actually look around, or do anything but grab a couple hours of sleep before heading off to the next stop on the tour. This time, however, Del Rio has a few more days off due to the holidays before he has to make an appearance at the next WWE event, which means that things will be vastly different.

"It's amazing," he breathes, taking in the rich wood accents greeting them in the foyer. It had been too dark outside to really take in the exterior of the building so this feels like the first true glance he's getting of his El Patron's home.

"Sirs?" the soft voice of a woman greets them. "_Hola_. May I take your things?"

"_Si_, Sofia," Alberto responds, handing over his things to the dark haired woman who had seemingly come from nowhere. Noticing Ricardo's perplexed expression, he smiles and holds a hand up, stopping the woman from running off just yet. "Sofia, this is Ricardo Rodriguez, my..." He pauses only momentarily, trying to think of a term how best to describe the man next to him, falling back on a term he hadn't really used out loud since the attack from Big Show months back. "...best friend." He's rewarded with the injured man's face lighting up and his smile too grows as he concludes the introductions. "Ricardo, this is my housekeeper, Sofia. She'll be around if you need anything."

They exchange polite greetings before she continues on her way with Alberto's things, the former world champion nodding at Ricardo's tight knuckled grip on his own bag. "You can put that down, she'll be back in a few moments."

"I can take it to my room," he protests instinctively, used to doing things for himself especially when in Alberto's presence.

"Ricardo," Alberto says, his tone somewhere between amused and exasperated. "Sofia _wants_ to help make our stay here as relaxing as possible. She knows what we've been through the past few days. _Let_ her. It'll make our stay much easier. Trust me." When Ricardo still looks uncertain, Del Rio rests a hand on his, slipping the bag from his grip until it hits the floor. "You'll hurt her feelings if you don't allow her to help you. You don't want that, do you?"

He takes a deep breath, finally shaking his head slightly. "No..."

"Alright then! Leave the bag here and I'll show you to your room, you look exhausted." Alberto's face softens into a smile as Ricardo follows him, only looking back once at the abandoned bag. "My room is across from yours," he explains as they walk by an open door, the sounds of Sofia bustling around within sending a wave of _home_ over the former world champion, causing him to relax even further. He's slowly getting used to living most of the time in America but whenever he's gone from his ranch, there's a tight ache deep within that never really fades, a discomfort with the unsual surroundings of his place in Florida that only lessens slightly with time. "If you need me, I will be nearby."

Ricardo nods wanly, his energy slipping through his fingers like water. Before he can say anything, he yawns and Alberto chuckles softly. "Sorry," he murmurs, barely able to look around the room as Alberto guides him inside and to the bed, which is ridiculously soft and plush as he sinks into it, the pillows almost molding around his form.

Ignoring his mumbled apologies and drifting words, Alberto quietly pulls his shoes off and the bedding up, covering him in the warm sheets and blankets. "Rest well, Ricardo. Tomorrow is Nochebuena." He lingers for a few moments, watching as the younger man shifts to get more comfortable before moving towards his own room. He meets Sofia in the hallway with Ricardo's bag and, holding a finger up to his lips, winks as she glances in at the sleeping man, nodding her understanding. He lurks around until she quietly leaves, the bedroom door clicking behind her. "Good night, Sofia," he whispers to her after making sure there's no noise coming from Ricardo's room.

"Rest well sir," she responds as he enters his own room, shutting the door behind him gently. As he peers around the calming whites and golds of his bedroom, he smiles. _It is good to be back._

The next morning, Ricardo comes to slowly, his breaths stuttering as his eyes flutter. He's on his side, something gripping his upper arm gently. He moans quietly, flashes of memory teasing and taunting him until he wakes up with a gasp, eyes widened and troubled in the early morning sunshine gleaming through the window behind him.

"Whoa, whoa," Alberto's accent rings in Ricardo's ear as he regroups himself. "Relax, you're safe." He's reminded of the day before and wonders how often Ricardo has dreams like this, of _whatever _they may be_,_ that leaves him trembling and freaking out, how many times he's not been around to drag the younger man back to reality. He wonders if Ricardo remembers the car accident at all, knowing that some of his own recent nightmares have had to do with that night, recalling how it had felt waking up to a lifeless Ricardo half-sprawled over him.

"Alberto?" he finally struggles, whispers. "Wha- what happened? Where are we?" Before Del Rio can even open his mouth, worried at the confusion and half-tempted to lunge for a phone and get a doctor over to the place ASAP, Ricardo shakes his head. "Wait, wait. This... is your home, right?"

"That's right. And this is your room, remember?"

Ricardo flinches and nods. "Slightly. I was..."

"You were asleep almost before I showed you this room," he smiles, relaxing a bit now that he has a less worrisome excuse for Ricardo's confusion. Tapping a hand on Ricardo's cast, smiling slightly as the younger man's gaze falls onto the crest decorating the plaster, he glances across the room and chuckles. "You know what day it is?"

His sense of time has been off since waking up, each day melding together with the next as he recovers, his body desperate for sleep, despite how nightmare-ridden it tends to be. "Uh," he hesitates, trying to think. "Nochebuena?" It's a guess but he can tell by the look on his friend's face that he's guessed right, relaxing into a smile of his own.

Alberto looks even more ecstatic with each passing second. "Yes! I have something for you." As Ricardo watches, he reaches behind him and pulls out something that glints even in this faint light. As he brings it closer, Ricardo realizes it is a fancy looking glass ornament.

Every so often it shifts on the delicate thread used to hang it from a tree, reflecting the light from different angles. At one point, his breath catches. "Is that...?" Peering closer, he realizes that it is indeed: Two carefully etched Rs span the glass, looking so fragile that he's reluctant to touch it.

Alberto's grin growing at the look of wonder on the younger man's face, he rests the ornament in his outstretched palm, closing his fingers around it. "This was made for you, yes. But that isn't all." Once more he glances at the opposing wall and finally curious at what he's looking at, Ricardo pulls himself upright, his cast tight against his still aching ribs as he rolls over. All he does from then on is gape, Alberto chuckling softly as they peer up at the six foot tree that Ricardo doubts had been there very long.

"That... that's..."

"It's a Christmas tree," he murmurs softly, chuckling as Ricardo once more turns to gape at it like it's the most shocking thing he'd ever seen in his life. "Between touring around to all of the WWE events, and your FCW responsibilities, I figured you might not have had a chance to decorate your own tree before the car accident. It's a little late, being Christmas Eve, but..." He looks doubtful for a second as Ricardo untangles himself from the sheets and stands, walking slowly over to the blank tree. When the ring announcer turns to him, however, his face clears into calm indifference.

"Thank you so much, El Patron. This... means a lot to me," he whispers, gingerly running his fingers through the bristles of the branches nearest to him.

Alberto grins, joining him. "I wasn't sure what kind of ornaments you would like, we can go buy more if you want, or use what we have around here. It's up to you." Not for the first time, Ricardo marvels at Alberto's influence, that he could get a tree and ornaments- and probably anything else he could ever want- at such short notice. That such a man would give him the time of day is startling. "Ricardo?" Del Rio's worried voice brings him sharply back to reality, blinking up at him. "Are you alright? Maybe you should sit down."

"No, I'm fine." His face lights up with the most sincere smile he's had since the accident. "Where are these ornaments?" The next couple of hours are spent with the two going through a box of the various Christmas buables that Del Rio had collected one way or another over the years, the other man's thick accent filling the room as he explains each one's origin, eyes twinkling at Ricardo's visible interest and excitement. The amount of history and memories in this one box is surprising to Ricardo, especially when he thinks back to the meager Christmas decorations he himself has stored away in his own apartment, never having the time, energy or money to go all out like this.

"So," Alberto says, once they've gone through the bulk of the box. "What do you say? Let's start with the lights and go from there, hmm?" At Ricardo's nod, he holds up a box of multicolored lights and shakes them vaguely. "Let's do this." Working together, they quickly have enough strands of lights wrapped around the evergreen to cover it in a cheerfully twinkling glow. The next part is a soft silver garland that reflects the various colors beautifully.

Alberto leaves briefly to talk to Sofia, Ricardo guessing that it's mostly to give him some time to decide on the ornaments he wants to use. Once he has a decent amount of bulbs of varying colors, sizes and shapes selected, he hesitantly shuffles to his feet, taking a deep breath as his body adjusts once more to standing, his balance still off due to the concussion and broken ribs. His least troublesome injury is the broken wrist, him slowly getting used to the awkward cast covering his wrist and hand. Taking a deep breath, he begins putting the ornaments up on the tree, careful not to attempt anything too high or too low. Of course, the first one he places is the specially made RR ornament, making sure it's positioned so he can see it from his bed. Pretty soon every part of the tree that he can reach without tweaking his neck or ribs is decorated to his liking and he sighs, looking down at the empty branches along the bottom and the lack of a star at the top.

"Need some help?" Alberto asks smoothly, walking into the room just then. He's rewarded by Ricardo's face lighting up yet again at his presence and the former world champion smiles as well, moving towards the bed. "These?" At the ring announcer's nod, he carefully picks up a couple of the colorful decorations from the bed. "Show me where you want them." They fall quickly into an easy rhythm, Ricardo pointing out spots on the tree in need of attention, and Alberto quietly puts each bauble where directed. When the last one is finally in place, Del Rio reaches over for the star and smiles slightly as Ricardo stares at it, transfixed by the treetopper. "Ricardo, if you want to finish the tree, I think you should." He holds the last piece of the puzzle out to the younger man, smiling slightly as he gently holds it in both hands.

"I... My ribs," he says uncertainly, sounding disappointed. Each movement hurts broken ribs, no more so than reaching up and stretching even a little bit.

Alberto pats his back with a sad smile. "If you don't mind, I can do it. I just wanted to make the suggestion. I'll be right here, either way."

His dark eyes peer back up at the star, realizing belatedly that the room is slowly growing dark, the sun already setting. _How long have we sat in here, talking and working on this? Or should I ask, how late did I sleep in to begin with?_ He takes a deep breath, reaching up hesitantly with the star in hand. Alberto remains nearby, Ricardo well aware that if this small feat should prove too much for him, he would stop it immediately, but even when his ribs protest loudly, he works through it with a strained grimace, breathing heavily through his nose.

He finally hooks the star on the top of the tree, stumbling backwards slightly once it's secure. Alberto steadies him, squeezing his upper arms gently as they look up at the finished product. "It needs plugged in," he says vaguely, a wave of exhaustion washing over him due to him being on his feet for the longest period of time since the accident.

"That it does," the Mexican aristocrat agrees with a soft nod, easing Ricardo down onto the edge of the bed, waiting just long enough to make sure he won't topple onto the floor the instant he moves away. "Relax, I'll handle it." Ricardo nods, half-watching as Alberto finds the cords and plugs it into an outlet, smiling to himself when the glow strikes the side of his face and back. Even from this position, he can tell it's beautiful.

"Thank you, Alberto," Ricardo says, sounding a little more alert now as he stares at one of his favorite parts of the season. Alberto sits next to him on the side of bed as well, shoulder to shoulder as they peer up at the tree. The star glows a soft golden light across their faces, only making the scattered multicolored lights below it stand out all the more.

"No need to thank me," he dismisses easily, deciding that this is one of the best afternoons he'd had in awhile. Amongst all of the title defenses and losses and other drama in the WWE, he had had precious few relaxing days spent just doing what he wanted to do. _Not sure what it says about things that it took a car accident for this to happen,_ he thinks grimly, smiling over at his ring announcer. "I have something else."

"What?" Ricardo looks startled as Alberto smirks at him and heads into the hallway, returning with a box wrapped in red and green paper. "What is that?"

"Something I got for you," he says smoothly, resting it on the bed between them.

"You didn't have... I didn't get you..." Ricardo is so startled by everything that he's unable to finish a sentence, Alberto's expression softening.

"Ricardo, you've been unconscious for days. If you _had_ a present for me right here and now, I'd be worried. Just... open it, please?"

Ricardo stares at him for a minute before conceding, gingerly pulling at the paper and ribbon. After a few moments of getting nowhere, he tears into it, glancing up as Alberto chuckles. He looks on approvingly so Ricardo continues until the box is free, his breath sticking in his throat. "Alberto," he mumbles, gingerly pulling a brand new iPad out of the box. "You didn't have to do this..."

"Yes, I did. Also, I wasn't sure what, eh, apps you had on this thing, so there's an iTunes giftcard in the box. If you need anymore, let me know."

"This is for a hundred dollars," Ricardo swallows, overwhelmed. "Alberto..."

"It's the least I could do, Ricardo. Now then, I believe dinner should be done soon, do you wish to eat in here or in the kitchen? Sofia's tamales are unbelievable."

Ricardo, after some thought, decides he has enough energy yet to make the trip to the kitchen, which is a room as tastefully decorated as the rest of the house he's seen so far, wood floors surrounded by soft cream walls and a polished table and chair set. Delicate china plates rest near each other, indicating where Alberto and Ricardo are to sit. He waits a moment for Alberto to go to his seat before taking his own, not wanting to guess wrong on the seating arrangement. The tamales are delicious and, after spending so many hours on the tree, he's starving which makes them taste even better. Del Rio smiles as he takes another, coloring slightly when he realizes his friend's eyes are on him. "Is... there something wrong?" he asks awkwardly.

"No, of course not," he says smoothly, an odd emotion in his gaze as he looks at his entwined hands. "It is just good to see you're getting your appetite back."

_This whole time, I've been so busy stuck in my own issues, caught up in those false memories, I'd never even thought about what _he_ must've gone through while I was stuck in that other place. _He takes a deep, sighing breath, putting his utensils down. Food is temporarily forgotten as he turns to face Alberto, hand anxiously reaching up to scratch at his forehead. He catches himself at the last second when Alberto raises an eyebrow, switching to his non-casted hand so he won't smack himself with the cast yet again. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you when I was in the hospital," he says slowly, as off-balanced emotionally as he is physically at the moment.

"Why are you apologizing? It's not your fault you were unconscious. I was the one driving, I should be the one apologizing," Alberto says just before his expression changing once more to a slightly more dangerous one as soon as the words leave his lips. "Although, on second thought, in a way, I suppose it was your fault as well."

"Wha- what?"

Alberto drops his napkin on the plate before turning to face his ring announcer straight on, eyes blazing with a fire he tends to hold onto for his more annoying opponents in the WWE. "The car is spinning out of control, a crash imminent, and the first thing you think to do is leap out of your seat and shield me?"

To his credit, Ricardo doesn't flinch away from the anger in his voice- a fact that Del Rio can't decide is proving of the other man's strength or just that he's grown used to Alberto's raised tones in the year and a half they've spent together- and even stares it down, his lips tugging downwards into an unhappy frown. "It is my job, El Patron. I am to help you, protect you, we discussed this long ago."

"Your job is within the WWE," Alberto snaps. "In the middle of the ring, or in extreme circumstances, the locker room. During a car accident, no." He sits back, scrubbing at his face. He suddenly looks tired, just barely holding onto his composure. "You could've died."

"So could you've," Ricardo mumbles distantly, picking at the table cloth nervously. _In a way, you did._ It gets easier, day by day, to wake up and smile, greet Alberto and pretend that that other world had never happened- that he had never seen Del Rio laying on a hospital bed, dying slowly despite his best attempts to spare the other man from more pain than is neccessary. Even so, the images still stay with him, growing all the more insistent especially in his dreams.

He releases a deep breath, dread and pain swirling around in his gut. _Maybe taking that second tamale was a bad idea._ "What does this mean? Are you firing me?" It is a horrible thought, one that leaves him cold and flushed at once as he tries not to be sick, tears pricking at his eyes despite his best attempts at keeping his emotions in check until he knows one way or the other.

When he looks up, however, Alberto looks as stricken as he feels, his lips parting. "No," he shakes his head vehemently. "No. I would never... not after... but you have to never do anything like this again. I couldn't take it." They stare at each other, expressions saying everything words couldn't fully describe. "You're my best friend, Ricardo. Please..."

"It's second nature for me by now to help you," he mutters. "I'm not going to... be able to just shut it off. Honestly, I wouldn't want to." He continues picking at the table until Alberto reaches over, snagging his wrist to stop him. "I'll, I'll try to be more careful though."

"Good." They fall back into an uneasy, awkward silence as Ricardo picks at what remains of his tamale, until finally Alberto stands. "I have some things around the ranch to deal with. Will you be alright for awhile? I can send Sofia in to keep you company if you want, she wouldn't mind getting to know you better." His voice sounds tense, distant.

Ricardo quietly shakes his head. "I'll be fine."

"Very well. I'll be back shortly." He feels Ricardo's eyes on him as he walks towards the door, coming close to turning around himself, but with Christmas only hours away, he'd rather have his temper in check before the whole holiday is ruined.

When he returns, the house is quiet and softly lit to guide his way, a sure sign that Sofia has turned in early to rest up before they leave the next day. Alberto doesn't have huge holiday celebrations, especially this year, but her dedication remains even on a day most people would demand off. His every attempt to get her to relax generally falls on deaf ears so he only suggests it once around this time of year before letting it go, to avoid offending her, like he had told Ricardo the night before. _I wonder where Ricardo's at,_ he muses, their argument earlier weighing heavily on him. Sighing, he turns towards the corridor that leads towards the bedrooms before catching sight of something out of the corner of his eye as he passes by the parlor.

Stopping short, he turns and stares, surprised to find his ring announcer curled up on the plush couch aimed towards the Christmas tree and impressively ornate nativity scene that takes up nearly a third of the room. His eyes soften as he changes direction and walks into the room quietly. He kneels down next to the couch and watches for a moment as Ricardo sleeps, smiling slightly. It's with a soft, almost fretful sigh that he adjusts the tangled blanket- more than likely originally placed there by Sofia- so it covers the man more thoroughly, stopping for a second to rest his hand on Ricardo's arm. To his regret, the younger man's eyes flutter open, startled for only a second before he realizes who's touching him. They stare at each other for long moments before Alberto breaks his gaze, pulls the blanket up to Ricardo's chin. "I apologize for earlier," he whispers to the sleepy looking man. "We still have things to discuss, but I shouldn't have gotten into it and ruined the afternoon. There is plenty of time to discuss that later, however. Good night, Ricardo."

He pauses for only a moment, taking in the nativity thoughtfully. Pulling out a box, he lifts up a statue of the baby Jesus and settles it in its place, smiling slightly as he takes in the more American way of celebrating Christmas next to traditional _Mexican_. He's almost back into the hallway when Ricardo clears his throat, tiredly speaking up. "Feliz Navidad, Alberto."

"Feliz Navidad," he says softly.

The next morning dawns bright and beautiful, the house warm and still smelling of Sofia's cooking from the day before. Alberto lingers in his room for a few moments, just taking in his home on the holidays, before venturing out to find Ricardo. There is little time to waste, with traveling to the next WWE event only hours away. His down time is slipping through his fingers but he shakes it off, pasting a smile on his face as he finds Ricardo's door open, the tree they had spent so much time on the day before shining a soft glow out into the hallway. He stands in the doorway and watches as Ricardo does something with his laptop, typing awkwardly with his casted hand now and again.

As always overly intuned with his presence, Ricardo looks up after a few moments and smiles sheepishly at Alberto. "El Patron," he says quietly. "Buenos dias."

"Buenos dias," he responds, hesitantly walking into the room, almost expecting to get kicked out. When Ricardo only turns his attention back to his laptop, the curious man settles down at the end of his bed. "What are you doing?"

"Ordering some plane tickets," he says, clicking a few more things before looking up. "I... um... don't want to return to Florida," he explains. "Before you say anything, I know I need to rest. But a cast and some cracked ribs aren't really going to be helped by going back to my apartment right now. If anything, it'll make it worse because I'll just be antsy and restless."

"So what do you want to do?" Alberto worries about what the other man is planning, well aware of his more dare-devil schemes. It hadn't been that long ago, after all, that, in a fit of boredom, he had challenged John Morrison to a parkour race type challenge and came out of it with bloodied shins that his tux rubbed raw that night, despite the bandages and gauze provided to him by an overly amused trainer.

"I want to continue traveling with you," he comments. "I know... I can't really do much of anything in the ring for you, but I can still announce."

He considers it, takes in the resolute look on Ricardo's face. The weeks following Big Show's attack back last summer had been difficult for them both, Ricardo in so much pain that he could barely see straight and Alberto unable to do anything to help, except wait and hope. Once he had been cleared to return after Money in the Bank, Alberto had taken him aside week after week and warned him that if he even dared stand up from a chair set up at ring side for him, he would never announce again. The threats worked for a few months until Alberto was distracted by title aspirations and needed every bit of assistance he could get, Ricardo finally wearing him down with constant assurances that he was completely at 100% and could take care of himself if needed.

It's with a grim frown that Alberto slowly concedes, his only comfort being that if Ricardo remains by his side, he'll be able to keep a close eye on him in the days and weeks to come. "Fine," he gives in. The look on the younger man's face _almost_ makes it worth it. "But one thing. Until after the holidays, you'll just be accompanying me to the hotels and staying there. I won't have you being injured again, while you're still recovering from all of this. You'll come on the road with me, yes, but you'll remain in the hotel." Despite his reservations, he's glad that Ricardo had suggested this- the road is a lonely place, even for those used to it. The weeks that Ricardo had been gone due to Big Show had been excrusiatingly slow and mundane.

"Fine," he says with a frown. He doesn't like it but can see the sense behind it, especially with his wrist still in a cast. He just doesn't want to be alone in Florida this quickly after the accident, especially with the nightmares and memories still haunting him.

They remain in the room for awhile, Ricardo quietly reading something off of his iPad and Del Rio content to just sit there and stare at the tree, relieved for a brief quiet period. It isn't all that long, however, before Alberto stands. He smiles as Ricardo's head jerks up at the sudden movement, looking startled. "Come, let's do something. If you're up to it."

After a night of mostly decent sleep, Ricardo feels better than he has in quite awhile so he nods, ribs only twinging a little as he stands up with a slight flinch. "Sofia forced a pain pill on me," he explains almost sheepishly.

"I'm surprised it took her this long," Alberto comments before leading him out of the room. Del Rio's idea of finding something to do ends up being a tour of the ranch and some of its grounds, keeping a careful eye on Ricardo so that he doesn't get too tired out while they walk through the spacious home. Unlike some ranches, there are no stalls or resting places for animals; Alberto doesn't have time or energy or interest in the creatures, so instead he fills his land with large garages for the impressive amount of cars he's collected over the years.

He purposely avoids these buildings, aware that seeing his cars is probably the last thing Ricardo needs right now. Instead he leads him along the dense copse of trees surrounding each building, shushing him slightly when they spot deer grazing. They watch for a few moments before continuing on, careful not to move quickly and startle the creatures.

Alberto's about to suggest they return to the house when Ricardo stops and peers at a nearby garage, a curious look on his face. He curses to himself; that look on Ricardo's face is never a good thing. "Ricardo?" The wreckage of the car they'd been stuck inside during the accident lays in that very garage and the way Ricardo is peering at it is unsettling to the former world champion. "Ricardo?"

He bites his lip, shakes his head quickly and marches in that direction, each movement purposeful and sure. Alberto gapes after him for a moment before rushing after him. "Ricardo! _Parada_! What are you doing?"

He doesn't say anything until they're outside of the building, still worrying his lip. "I need to see it, Alberto." They stare at each other for a moment, Del Rio looking very reluctant but when he realizes Ricardo isn't about to back down, he pulls a set of keys from his pocket and reaches around, unlocking the door. A quick security code later and the door beeps, opening easily.

"Come, Ricardo." He follows quietly, flicking the light switch next to the door as they enter, light filling the room so quickly that it startles both of them. He doesn't even need to point out the wreckage to Ricardo, its destruction amongst all of the pristine cars is so startling that he thinks it'd be noticeable from a mile away. Sure enough, the younger man walks straight towards it, his hands fisted at his side. Alberto can hear his breathing from here, echoing in the room, and it eats at him.

Ricardo peers at the car with a blank look on his pale face, taking in the damage caused by the light pole that they had slammed into, how it had bent and warped the hood, shattered the windshield. To think that they had been stuck in that mess of metal and glass for who knows how long is a chilling thought. He may have false memories of holding onto an unconscious, bloodied Alberto, but in reality, he had been the one unresponsive, the man behind him unable to do anything but wait. The differing memories of the same accident gives him a headache, something that he thinks is made even worse by the fact that he's yet to tell anyone.

"Are you alright?" Alberto asks, taking a couple steps closer.

Ricardo releases a deep breath, reaching out to the car. As he brushes his fingers along the cool metal, he releases a soft breath. "Yeah. I'm ok." He's not, entirely, his thoughts racing as he takes in the interior of the car, remembering being sprawled out upon Alberto's form and taking in his bloodied head wound, the spiderwebbing of the driver's side window from impact. Here he can tell it's untouched, the glass in one piece, further proof that his nightmares are full of false memories.

Trying to pull himself back securely into reality, he releases a shuddering breath. "When are you going to get this repaired?"

Alberto rests a hand on his shoulder, squeezing softly. "I wasn't planning on it," he admits. "It didn't seem worth it."

_Ok, hang on a minute. _Ricardo turns, frowning at him. "Not worth it? That car's your favorite, you always rent the most expensive carrier when you're having it shipped over to the nearest town when we're flying somewhere." He pauses. "Is this because of me? Do you think you still using it would... effect me somehow?"

Alberto grimaces, scraping a hand through his slick hair. "There's no point to getting it fixed if I don't plan on driving it, and I'm not going to do that around you. It'd just be cruel."

Ricardo hesitates, his dark eyes flickering over to the car. He _doesn't_ want to ever get inside of it again, the memories clinging to it like a bad smell, but he remembers the first time he had seen it just after Alberto had bought it, to celebrate his first world title victory, the pure joy on his face. "You can't do that because of me. I can't just... let things pass me by because of this. We, we have to move on, you know? Continue doing what we're doing." He takes a deep breath and smiles tentatively at his friend. "Fix the car, Alberto. I swear, I'll be fine."

He nods hesitantly, already taking in the car critically and trying to determine how much his mechanic would charge. "If you're sure."

"I am."

Alberto had been unyielding that Sofia take this day off at the least- she had reluctantly agreed, swayed only by the fact that there is plenty of leftover food from the day before. It doesn't, however, stop her from waiting for them in the foyer as they prepare to leave for the WWE events that afternoon.

Ricardo smiles at her, sheepish and a little anxious as she checks his luggage to make sure the pain medicine he had been trying to ignore as much as possible is in an easy-to-get to place in case he should need it on the flight to Chicago for Raw. "Thank you," he says sincerely. "For everything the past few days." He felt like he had slept a lot during his time here but whenever he had been awake, she had been on hand to help him with whatever he'd needed.

She smiles at him. "It was my pleasure, Mr. Rodriguez. I hope you return soon, in better circumstances."

He nods, smiling back awkwardly before moving aside to give Alberto a moment with her to say goodbye. He looks up in time to see the former world champion kiss the housekeeper on the cheek, smiling at her as he pulls away. "I'll be back home as soon as the schedule allows, Sofia."

"You had better." She peers from man to man, maternal gaze soft and a bit sad as she walks them to the door. "Safe travels."

Alberto squeezes her arm briefly before pulling the door open, his smile slipping as soon as they turn to face the car. Ricardo had been too exhausted and in pain the last couple of times they had traveled this way, but this time he's alert, his eyes fixed on the sleek white car that will be taking them to the airport. Del Rio hesitates, staring at him worriedly. "Ricardo?"

"Yes?"

"Is... this alright?" He licks his lips awkwardly, glancing over at the car when his ring announcer looks at him. "Traveling this way? My driver has been given strict instructions not to drive recklessly..."

Ricardo's lips twitch upwards, his eyes still troubled and dark. "It'll be fine, Alberto. I'll be fine." Before anything else can be said, he collects the only bag small enough that Alberto would allow him to use as a carry on and walks the rest of the way to the car, pausing briefly as the man waiting for them both pulls the door open, shutting it smoothly behind him.

Alberto sighs, turning to look at Sofia once more. "Take care of him, Alberto," she says quietly. "He's still... very troubled about this whole situation."

He nods. "I will, Sofia. I promise." With another smile to her, he heads for the car as well, only stopping long enough to reiterate to his driver the benefits received if care is taken during this trip.

After a thankfully uneventful car ride and a short chain of connecting flights that take them to Chicago, they arrive in early evening and settle in at the usual upscale hotel Alberto's grown to like that's in the area. Ricardo peers down at the city through the window of the suite they've been assigned to, a thoughtful look on his face.

Alberto pauses while sorting through his things, looking up curiously at his unusually still, silent ring announcer. "Ricardo? Are you alright?"

"Hmm?" He blinks, slowly nodding. "Oh. Yes, I'm fine. Just thinking." Silence reigns for a bit before he sighs, resting his uninjured hand against the cold glass. "The last time I was here was Money in the Bank weekend."

"Ah." Alberto frowns, remembering that weekend too well. It had been Ricardo's first time back on the road with him since the Big Show's attack; Alberto had toyed with the idea of allowing Ricardo to return that night but it had seemed too much like tempting fate, especially with Big Show just as angrier as ever. But fortuitously enough, the large man had suffered a broken ankle that promised to put him on the shelf for quite awhile. Ricardo had returned the next night.

This would be the second time after an injury that Ricardo would be stuck alone in Chicago while Alberto has to focus on WWE responsibilities. It all seems so needlessly cruel. Even so, it can't be helped so the next night, he leaves Ricardo behind and goes to the arena.

His match is worthless, his usually vicious temper remains red-hot and before long he's snapping at anyone who even looks sideways at him. He misses Mexico, he misses his title belt that that perro CM Punk is still carrying around in the most obnoxious way possible, he misses Ricardo's attempts at calming him down. Though it's just as well the other man is far away from him at the moment, the last thing he needs is to receive the brunt of Alberto's anger like what has happened time and time again in the past.

He changes clothes, anxious to return to the hotel and see what's Ricardo's gotten up to since he's been gone. The younger man seems to be having more problems emotionally than physically since that damn pay per view and its aftermath, but concussions and broken ribs, along with the other injuries, are nothing to play with. Alberto is well aware of this so he presses on the gas just a little bit on his way to the hotel.

The staff as always is attentive to him, recognizing him from the past times he'd stayed at the hotel, but he barely nods at the ones he recognizes, heading to the elevator quickly. Pressing the button to take him up to his room, he sighs, leaning against the opposing wall with his arms crossed. Surprisingly the elevator doesn't come to a stop before it arrives at his floor, a lucky break even at this hour.

He walks resolutely to his room, unlocking the door swiftly. It's dark and cold inside and his frown grows, temper flaring once more. "Ricardo!" There is no answer and he glowers around the room, anger and worry warring for dominance as he storms around, turning on as many lights as he can find. The room is fully lit before he turns in a circle, finally accepting that his ring announcer just isn't there. "¡_Maldita Sea!_" He's about to leave when another wave of cold washes over him, causing him to shiver. "WHY is it so cold in here?"

But in the end, the cold is the answer to his main problem as he turns sharply towards where the chill seems to be coming from just to find the balcony door open a sliver. His heart thudding in his chest, he hesitantly heads for it. "What the...?" It's darker out there than the hotel room had been upon his arrival, covered in powdery, white snow that's fairly fresh.

His breathing sounds loud and frenzied in the crisp December air but he ignores the cold, quickly scanning the balcony surface. Even with the snow covering it, it's slick and he finds himself checking over the railing for a moment before taking a breath. _Don't start thinking like that. He..._ His thoughts derail as he finally catches sight of something dark against the white. "_Ricardo_!"

Forgetting everything else, he drops to his knees next to the downed ring announcer, gaping at his sleeping form. He's pale, and cold, and shivering so slightly that it worries Alberto. Snow is coating almost every inch of him so he quickly brushes off as much as he can from his hair and clothes, cursing to himself. "What were you thinking?" he hisses to him, anger fading away to pure worry as he realizes that Ricardo's come out here in one of his many short sleeved jerseys, and still hasn't reacted to any of Alberto's rough, jerky movements. "Ay dios mio."

There will be plenty of time for anger and lectures later, for now he needs to get Ricardo inside and warmed up. He considers running and getting help, calling someone, but it all seems like it'd take too much time. "Ok," he mumbles, scraping a hand against his face. There's only one feasible thing to do and he grimaces, already aware of how awkward and possibly painful this'll be.

After everything they'd been through, leaving Ricardo here is just an impossible decision so he sucks it up and scoops the younger man up, one hand under his back and the other under his legs. Gritting his teeth, he's thankful for all of the cardio he does do as he lifts, desperately planting his feet in the snow. That's the hardest part, or so he thinks until he takes one step, and another, his footing tenuous at best.

Each sense becomes hypersensitive as he waits for something to go wrong, his hearing locks on Ricardo's breathing, the feel of his soft clothing beneath his hands contrasting with the harsh cement beneath his feet ingrained in Alberto's mind. "Almost," he grunts, kicking the balcony door the rest of the way open. "Hold on, Ricardo."

Thankfully once they're inside, the carpet is easy enough to walk across and Alberto relaxes slightly once his footing grows more sure. It's only a few steps over to the beds and he breathes through his nose with each shifted movement, finally releasing a shuddering hiss of a breath as his knees hit the edge of the nearest bed. "Oh God," he groans, gingerly lowering Ricardo down onto the sheets. "Now... what to do with you..." First, of course, is warming him up. After closing the balcony door forcefully, he digs through Ricardo's bag, finding a warm sweatshirt before moving to his bed, where he collects the dry blankets and sheets.

Quickly exchanging the snow-drenched sports jersey with the warm sweater, Alberto moves onto the blankets, pausing only long enough to rub Ricardo's arms briskly before wrapping him up snugly in the bedding. He then settles on the bed, grimly patting Ricardo's face in an attempt to wake him up. "How long were you out there?" he mumbles, chilled to the bone just in the few minutes he had spent out on the balcony. "_Why _were you out there?" He spends what feels like hours working warmth back into the younger man, relieved when he begins shivering harder, his worries about hypothermia fading slowly as Ricardo groans, his head rolling on the pillow. "It's ok," he mumbles repetitively. "You're gonna be ok."

He considers not for the first time taking the other man to the ER but in the end, all he can see every time he treats it like a viable option is Ricardo laying in a hospital bed, unresponsive and so small, fading away slowly as he watches. Not to mention how emphatic he himself had been on getting released from the hospital mere hours after waking up. His eyes flutter shut, head lowering to the bed near Ricardo's as sleep stubbornly claims him. He wakes up slowly to a soft touch on the back of his head. Jerking up, he stares at a sluggishly blinking Ricardo, his hand trembling against his neck. "You're awake!"

"What happened?" he mumbles, looking around in confusion. "I..."

Alberto's frown deepens as he schools the thought of a visit to the ER again. "I was hoping you could tell me."

He shifts, struggles and finally sits up, frowning. "I... wait, Chicago. We're in Chicago."

"That's right."

"I... woke up and you were gone," he mumbles. "It was... I couldn't remember." He leans forward and presses a hand to his face. "God. I couldn't _breathe,_ it was dark and lonely and I needed some air so I went outside for a minute... but I, I don't remember anything else."

_Enough tiptoeing around this,_ Alberto decides. "Remember what, Ricardo? What's going on?" When the ring announcer still hesitates, Alberto glares at him, his accent thickening the more agitated he grows. "I've let this go long enough. You've not been the same since you woke up, even Sofia noticed that you're struggling with something. Tell me or this can't continue. It won't."

Ricardo's fists clench around the bedding pooling around his midsection before turning to look at Alberto. "You died."

Again it feels like a blow deep to his gut as he stares at the pain in his friend's face and he stands from the bed, taking a few steps away to distance himself from the overwhelming emotions coming from the man. "You said that before, when you first woke up. What does that even mean?"

"You're not going to believe it," Ricardo whispers, eyes locked on his fingers as they trail over the cast, subconsciously etching across the lines of the crest drawing. "It's..."

"It's enough to leave you wandering out on a balcony in the middle of winter fresh off of a car accident," Del Rio snaps. "I'll believe it. Just tell me."

Ricardo swallows thickly, nodding. "Fine. I... I will." And so the story comes out, about how he had woke up to a bloodied unconscious Alberto, had called for help, had waited in that car for so long and even longer in the hospital for any kind of sign that things would be better... just for Alberto to pass away, and how he had been drawn by Alberto's voice enough to wake up, here, in reality. "Whenever I fell asleep in that... whatever it was, I could hear your voice. It was faint but grew stronger each time, until I woke up in the hospital."

"So my dying felt like reality to you, when actually you were the one unconscious." _This explains so much,_ he thinks, grimly peering at his best friend. "I'm so sorry, Ricardo."

"It's not your fault," he murmurs. "I should've explained things sooner, I just... it seemed so ludicrous. I didn't think you'd believe me."

Alberto returns to the edge of the bed, brushing his fingers through Ricardo's hair, pushing it off of his forehead with a slight smile. "It _is _strange, I'll admit, but I have no reason not to believe you." He sighs, shifting into a more comfortable position. "I'm not sure if doing this is the right thing, you on the road with me. Maybe you should be in Florida resting, not going from hotel to hotel, especially since I'm gone for hours at a time."

Ricardo immediately shakes his head. "No, I... It would be worse if I was alone. It's part of the reason I wanted to come." He fiddles with the edge of the sheet, biting his lips. "Besides, I should be cleared in a few weeks, right?"

Alberto frowns slightly. "Maybe. We'll discuss it later. How are you feeling?"

He hesitates but, knowing that lying or sugarcoating things will get him nowhere, speaks honestly. "A little cold and sore." Before he can think of anything else to say, he's pushed back onto the bed with the sheets more snuggly around him, a pain pill being pushed into his hand. Within moments, a luke warm bottle of water follows it and he sighs, taking the medicine with a slight grimace.

"Sleep, Ricardo. I'll be nearby," Alberto murmurs, the last thing Ricardo hears before he falls back asleep, this time warm and comfortable.

From that point on, Ricardo _does_ remain on the road with Alberto, the former world champion only appeased enough to leave for events after tipping the hotel staff well to check in on him now and again. Ricardo is a little happier when, after much discussing amongst themselves, the doctors, WWE trainers and various other people, they agree that, pending some unforseen complication, he'll be allowed back in three to four weeks once most of his injuries are healed; he imagines that the only sign of what has happened will be the cast still on his wrist just visible beneath the sleeve of his tux.

Ricardo begins to feel better, act more like himself, bit by bit, with each passing day, to Alberto's relief.

Ricardo's standing in the middle of the ring. It's an average day, or so it seems, Alberto preparing to wrestle yet another match beneath him as he waits for an opportunity to regain his WWE title. Ricardo is standing in the ring, microphone tight in hand as he waits for El Patron to drive out to the ring, in one of his favorite cars- a sleek, dark blue ferrarri that many superstars had ogled throughout the day until neither Alberto or Ricardo had felt safe leaving it until absolutely neccessary, especially considering what Cena had done at Night of Champions months back.

He's mid-introduction when it all goes wrong- the car continues past where Alberto ordinarily brakes, seems to speed up impossibly, and crashes into the ramp. Ricardo's voice dies away, his fingers going limp and dropping the microphone, which releases a painful burst of feedback as it hits the mat. "ALBERTO!" he yells, forgetting everything as he slides under the ring ropes and dashes up the ramp to his friend. All he can see as he runs is another car accident on the side of the road in the middle of winter, his hands coated in thick, dark blood.

He's half-way up the ramp, afraid of what he'll find once he reaches the car, when his vision shifts, everything turns dark. He jerks with a strangled sob, finding himself pressed tight against something warm and soft- a very familiar fabric. He clutches to it, lets his fingers re-memorize the feel of the clothing beneath him as he catches his breath, grounds himself. _Another nightmare,_ he realizes painfully, his eyes blinking wetly against the darkness. "Alberto," he groans out, his voice muffled against what has to be Alberto's always-present pristine white scarf.

As if his voice was the prompting Del Rio had been waiting for, he's pushed back gently so he can actually see. Alberto shifts his grip to his shoulders once he sees Ricardo is capable of maintaining his own half-sitting, half-leaning position. "Are you alright?"

His eyes are dark and compassionate, worried, as the ring announcer gazes at him, biting his lip. "Yes," he finally says, running his hands over his face. "It was a nightmare..."

"I could tell." Alberto adjusts him, settles him back against the pillow once more as he struggles not to respond to his body's overly vocal protests. He feels sore and raw like he had been struggling throughout the dream; based on the state of the bedding, that's exactly what he'd done. "Is this alright?"

"Yes." He watches as Alberto reaches to the foot of the bed and grabs some large takeout bags that he had probably dropped there when he found his ring announcer in the midst of the nightmare. "I'm not very hungry," he admits lowly, feeling bad. All he can focus on is the sound of metal crunching and compacting in both crashes- his own mind possibly forever jumbled on what's real and what's fake, between the actual wreck, the coma, and now the nightmares that have persisted since his awakening. It leaves him feeling nauseous and shaky; even the wafting mixture of smells coming from the bags making him feel worse.

Alberto notices, quickly moving the food over to the other side of the room. He had caught Ricardo in the middle of various nightmares over the past few days, but none as bad as this one. "When you feel like eating, it'll be right here."

"Thank you." He watches Alberto's back as the other man digs into his food from across the room. "I... um."

Curious, Alberto turns around in the chair and stares at him, eyebrow raised. "Do you want something, Ricardo?"

He sighs, sitting a little straighter as he prepares to try again. "My place is no where near impressive as your ranch back in Mexico but... um. There's no touring this weekend so would you like to spend New Years in Florida?"

Del Rio's eyes soften as he takes in Ricardo's uncertainty, the nervousness that tinges each word. "_Claro_," he says softly. "I would be honored." He grins as Ricardo lights up, looking more energetic than he has since TLC.

One more flight sends them to Florida and Ricardo watches with a tight look on his face as Alberto looks around his two bedroom apartment, settling his bags in the pale yellow room Ricardo had led him to. "Is this alright?"

"It's perfect," the Mexican aristocrat says, not seeming to mind how out of place he looks in the simplistic room as he sits on the edge of the bed, digging through his bag.

"Great." Ricardo licks his lips, suddenly awkward as he realizes that yes, indeed, Alberto Del Rio, well-traveled and in touch with all of the fanciest hotels around the world, is _in_ his small, unimpressive apartment. It's almost horrifying. "Well, uh, if you need anything, just let me know. I'm gonna go unpack."

"Alright."

He wakes up sometime later, uncertain exactly how much time's passed, the flight and soreness still exhausting him far sooner than he'd expected. He can hear Alberto moving quietly in the living room, murmuring to himself, and smiles slightly before forcing himself out of the bed. He's just reached the room in time to see Del Rio drop down on the beige couch against the opposing wall, looking thoughtful. "Is everything alright?"

"Oh." He blinks, startled. "Yes. I was just thinking. Did I wake you?"

Ricardo's smile grows a bit. "No, I should've been up anyway." He peers at the digital clock nearby and groans, eyes widening. "I've slept for four hours?"

"It seems you needed it," Del Rio comments, stretching his arms out over the back of the couch. "I would've woken you before midnight." It would've been cruel otherwise, considering how the man had been talking about fireworks reflecting off of the water just so, perfectly visible from the balcony off of his apartment. The first time he had mentioned it, both had paused, remembering Chicago and how Alberto had found Ricardo.

But Florida is nothing like Chicago so after a quiet evening of watching weird television, they head out to the balcony in time to get comfortable on the chairs that Ricardo never bothers to move, since he spends a fair amount of his rare days off here, tanning or just relaxing in the gentle breeze from the ocean. The ring announcer watches as Alberto takes in the spectacular view, holding his breath as the older man smiles brightly in the moonlight. "This is amazing, Ricardo."

His grin is sharp and relieved- the view from the balcony had been the main reason he selected this apartment to be his and it makes him happy to know Alberto agrees with his assessment.

A few minutes later, they hear through the open doors as the countdown begins, people already cheering and excited for the new year. Once it ends, now officially 2012, Ricardo leans back and lets the fireworks display wash over him. He glances over at one point to find even Alberto is peacefully watching, his eyes twinkling with each flash and explosion in the night sky.

Once the final burst of silver and red light fades from the night sky, neither man seem in a hurry to move. "Happy New Year, _El Patron,_" Ricardo finally says languidly, brushing a finger against the cast where he knows Alberto's painstaking writing from his time in the hospital remains. When the wish is returned softly, he turns to look at his friend. "Did you enjoy the fireworks?"

"They were nice," he says, sounding as relaxed as Ricardo feels. "You were right, this is the perfect place to see them from. Thank you for having me."

"It was my pleasure," Ricardo says honestly. "I'm glad you liked it." The start of the new year brings a brief calm to the men as they stare out over the dark waters, wondering what would come next for them individually and as a whole.

Weeks filled with rehab for his neck go by slowly, his return to announcing Alberto going as planned even though for the first few weeks, the only way Del Rio will allow it is if he goes straight to the back once the match begins. Once the cast is off and his wrist is stronger, Alberto eases up enough to let him remain at ringside, sitting by the announcers' table in the uncomfortable steel chairs once again.

By mid-February, he's been cleared by a doctor for competition- though he's only wrestled a couple times in an actual WWE ring since debuting as Alberto's ring announcer, he competes more regularly in Florida, and it feels good to know he can once more. The nightmares of that night are still present, but they're distant slips of memory,few and far between, his emotions much more stable as more time passes.

Alberto is preparing for a match one night when one of the tech people knock timidly on the door, obviously having had her fill of Alberto's infamous temper in the past. Ricardo answers the door, slipping outside to give the former world champion some privacy. "Yes?"

"This is for you," she says quietly, handing over a sheet of folded paper. He watches, anxious and a little nauseous, as she stares at him for a second before moving past and continuing along her way

He holds the paper in one fist, almost afraid to open it. He had been all but useless for much of his time here- his only saving grace being that Alberto himself had selected him to announce him- so it almost would seem believable to him that they would release him now.

He hasn't moved when the door opens a few moments later, a sharp eyed Alberto relaxing just a little when he sees the man on the other side, staring off into the distance with his fingers tangled around a sheet of paper. "Ricardo? What is that?"

The younger man jerks and looks up. "Not here," he says. "Inside." Once they're back in the relative privacy of the locker room, they sit facing each other on opposing chairs as Ricardo takes a deep breath. "This is from corporate," he mumbles.

"You haven't opened it?" Del Rio peers at the paper, as if he can determine what it says even though it's still folded up. "Why not?"

"I'm not sure what it is."

He looks small and fretful, so Alberto shifts forward, attracting his attention. "You won't know until you open it," he reminds Ricardo. "Just get it over with."

He's still hesitant but, taking a deep breath, unfolds the paper. Tense moments tick past, Alberto shifting anxiously as the younger man stares at the words scattered across it.

"Well?" the Mexican aristocrat asks impatiently when the waiting becomes unbearable.

An honest, wide smile takes over Ricardo's face as he rereads the words, double checking to make sure he's not understanding it wrong. "I have a match in Florida in a couple of weeks, my first one since... everything." He looks up to find a thoughtful frown on Alberto's face, his own pleasure slipping a bit. "What?"

He sighs, running a hand over his face before peering up at Ricardo. "You've just started training with me again a couple weeks ago. Will you be ready for this?"

Instead of turning defensive or angry, Ricardo grows thoughtful, giving Alberto's question weight. "I think I can get back to where I need in the next two weeks. I feel a lot better now, and I think by March 2nd, I'll be more solid than I was, maybe even than before the accident." Catching sight of a bit of doubt in Del Rio's gaze, he sits up straight. "FCW must feel so too, or they wouldn't have made this match, right?"

Del Rio shrugs, not wanting to leave it up to chance. The thought of Ricardo getting re-injured on his first match back leaves him feeling a little ill. "Either way, we'll make sure you're 100% by then."

Ricardo's eyes lighting up almost makes Alberto decide right then and there that he's made the right decision. "Thank you."

On March 2nd, Brodus Clay watches with a faint smile as Ricardo paces around the small locker room, his eyes downcast. He's already in the ring gear that honors his previous time as Chimaera in the Indys, so with nothing left to do but wait, the anxiety eats at him.

"Hey, man, you're gonna do fine," Brodus tries to cut through his thoughts, his arms crossed over his large chest. "This guy you're wrestling, he's just some rookie. You'll handle 'em easily."

"I know, it's just..." He bites his lip. The name of his opponent was someone he had only heard of in passing, barely able to put a face to it. "I don't want to screw up tonight, do something wrong."

"It's like riding a bike, right? You'll pick it up again quick."

"Yeah, I guess." He tries not to think about it but he can't help dwelling on the fact that he hadn't heard from Alberto all day; not even a good luck text, or anything. Brodus' encouragement is welcomed, but to hear it from his best friend would've meant a lot more.

By the time his cue comes, Ricardo is almost vibrating with tension, Brodus alternatively amused and sympathetic towards his former tag partner and NXT mentor. "Knock 'em dead, Ricardo."

"Thanks," he mumbles, double checking his wrist tape once more before leaving the room. The match goes smoothly enough; for awhile it's even, the rookie pretty damn strong, considering. Once Ricardo gets the advantage, though, he only loses it once or twice for brief periods of time.

He doesn't slip when he goes to the top rope, his strength holds enough for a few power moves, and he doesn't make a fool of himself when he actually hits a corkscrew moonsault from the second rope. Adrenaline keeps the pain away as he rolls into the cover, eyes closed while he feels the referee's hand hit the mat once... twice... three times.

Eyes slamming open, he gasps as he rolls off of his defeated opponent, almost in disbelief that he had won his first match back, despite everything. "Holy crap." The referee grabs his hand and holds it up in victory, only letting go when he winces slightly, grabbing his midsection as the pain from the moonsault finally greets him.

He's still catching his breath when his music cuts off, just to restart a moment later, confusing him. "What the-?" His voice dies away completely as Alberto Del Rio appears on the top of the ramp, face alit with pride in his ring announcer. His jaw drops as the man makes his way to the ring, clapping. It's the first time he'd actually been back in an FCW ring since leaving to head up to WWE, something completely shocking to the younger man.

Ricardo gapes as his friend slips into the ring and lifts his arm in victory, taking care not to make his ribs hurt worse. "Congratulations, Ricardo."

"But... how? I thought you were in Mexico," he says, ignoring the crowd as he focuses completely on Alberto.

"I was, until this morning." He grins at the look on Ricardo's face. "I would've messaged you earlier, but I didn't want to ruin this surprise. Brodus and I had discussed it, he was supposed to keep you company before your match."

_That's why he wouldn't let me out of his sight,_ Ricardo realizes with a faint nod. "He did." He smiles. "Thank you for being here."

"Where else would I be?" His grin grows as he clasps the other man's shoulder. "That was a very well fought match."

Dark eyes widening, Ricardo laughs in disbelief that Alberto, a former world champion, would tell_ him_ that. He tries to memorize every second of this moment, not wanting to forget anything. "Thank you." As they head up the ramp, Del Rio wraps an arm around his shoulder, squeezing slightly. Ricardo smiles. Things are far from perfect, the memories from before still with them both, but they're moving on, growing past it. He has no doubt now that they'll be alright.

He'll never forget the car accident or what came after it, but for now... for the first time in months, everything feels right.


	4. Inside The Black

A/N: Alberto's perspective from part of "Next To Me"

Alberto's eyes flutter wearily as his hands shift against something. The accident had happened so fast, there had been no hope of him correcting the car in time. Though he had tried, yes, he had. _Black ice,_ he thinks bitterly, his eyes still closed against the pops and hisses his poor car is now making.

His scattered thoughts grow more concise as he recalls- the last thing he'd seen before everything went quiet... His very own ring announcer, already injured, diving for him, and then nothing. Thinking makes his head hurt, moving more so, but he needs to see. "Ricardo..." His voice sounds weak, pathetic and he frowns, clears his throat before trying again. "Ricardo?"

Despite the throbbing throughout his body, he needs to move- and move he does, or tries to. Something heavy is pressed against him, holding him to the seat and he grimaces in frustration, wondering if he's pinned by his own car. He feels dizzy and sick despite still being seated but he has to know so he squints an eye open, peering out into the somber, quiet evening. He can see his car, its hood folded up around a light pole. The windshield is shattered; glass is all over. He can feel it in his hair, sticking to his sleeves.

Shifting his focus downwards, his jaw slacks as he realizes why exactly he can't move- Ricardo's body is pressed awkwardly against his, partially blocked by the steering wheel but enough to hold him down. He can't see the other man's face, but his silence is worrisome. He stares for a moment, throat dry, before raising his shaking hands and pressing them to Ricardo's shoulders. "Ricardo! Move, move."

There is no response, not even a groan, and Alberto's heart sinks for the second time that evening. The first had been when he had first heard that the other man had been pushed off of a ladder into the tables waiting below, had watched the footage while waiting in the hospital for word on his condition. "Ricardo?" The ring announcer, over the year-plus that they had spent together in the WWE, had grown so used to Alberto's voice and presence, would awaken at the mere hint that he's needed. So this, this silence worries Del Rio more than anything has in awhile. He sighs heavily and shifts, touching Ricardo's arm briefly. Still no reaction and he releases his hold, struggling to lean over enough to check Ricardo's pockets.

"I know you always have that insufferable phone on you," he grunts against Ricardo's hair as he finally finds it and tugs it free. "Aha," he mumbles, pressing buttons on it. When it lights up, he melts into the seat a bit, Ricardo's upper body shifting with him. "Hang on," he tells him quietly as he listens to the call connecting.

The conversation is brisk, as straight forward as possible. He tells the dispatcher the last street sign he recalls seeing and she directs him in checking Ricardo's breathing and pulse. Both are there, if a little rapid and uneven, and he sucks in a relieved breath of his own. He leaves the phone in hand, just in case, and takes to idly stroking Ricardo's hair as he waits.

"Ricardo? Ricardo..." Alberto rolls his eyes downwards as he looks at his still motionless ring announcer. "Hmph," he groans, his fingers trailing to rest on Ricardo's neck, wonders where the neck brace is. He makes a quick note to tell the EMTs at first chance that Ricardo is already injured "You're gonna be ok." The unnatural silence chipping away at his tenuous hold on his temper, he takes to looking out of the busted windshield once more to peer out at what's left of his car.

His hand still pressed against Ricardo's nape, he tilts his head back against the seat and sighs, sore and tired. "Just a little longer, Ricardo," he muses, thinking he can hear sirens in the distant. "Hear me?" He looks back down at the unconscious man half-sprawled across him and grimaces. "What did you do, Ricardo...?"

Within minutes, Alberto's crashed car is reflecting blue and red lights as emergency vehicles pull to a stop nearby, an ambulance in view when he looks over. "We're going to be fine," he whispers, hands trailing down to Ricardo's back.

He watches impatiently as the workers wander around the vehicle for a moment, finally going to the passengers' side as the driver's side door is warped and difficult to get into, the worst of the damage on Alberto's side of the car. He watches silently as an EMT crawls into the car. "Sir, how do you feel?"

"I'm fine," Alberto dismisses their concern. "_Mi cuadrilátero locutor_-" He cuts himself off, realizing what he's doing as the EMTs look confused. "Ricardo-" He takes a deep breath and motions to the young man they're carefully looking over. "He will be ok?"

"He's hanging on, sir," one of the EMTs says even as he supports Ricardo's head with one hand, allowing his fellow rescue worker to secure a neck brace on him.

When they remove Ricardo from the car, Alberto watches for as long as he can. It's only when the ring announcer is out of his sight that he realizes just how hard he's trembling, his hands clenching and unclenching around the scarf drifting down to his legs. Not wanting the EMTs to damage the expensive item that Ricardo had looked painstakingly for to find just the right one, he carefully unwraps it from around his neck and folds it, clinging to it as the EMTs return a few moments later.

His eyes lock on the neck brace they're approaching him with. He's tempted to argue but he _is_ sore, a fact becoming more and more obvious with each passing second that he doesn't have Ricardo to focus on. And so he submits to the embarrassment of the neck brace and being helped out of the car, unwilling to risk his career and livelihood with a neck injury.

"What happened?" one of the EMTs ask, drawing him from his thoughts.

Alberto blinks, weighs his answer as they attach the neck brace. "I think it was black ice. We were fine one moment and the next..." He peers over the EMT's shoulder at the pole visible through his somewhat pane-less windshield and releases a deep breath. _This was bad, but it could've been much, much worse..._

The EMTs continue talking but Del Rio's dark eyes are focused on the outside, wondering what's going on with Ricardo right now. "Ricardo? Is he awake yet?"

"No, sir," the EMT bustling around him says simply, focusing on the task at hand as they work on getting him out of the car while jostling him as little as possible. "Let us do the work, you just stay as still as possible," he orders when Alberto tries to shift his own body weight. "We don't know what your injuries are like, better safe than sorry, right?"

"Fine," he mumbles, conceding to their attempts reluctantly. Other than a little sore and dizzy, he doesn't feel that bad but he knows the EMT is correct. With nothing to do but wince whenever they press down on his sore upper body, his thoughts go in circles on Ricardo's condition, annoying him further. _What were you thinking?_

Ricardo is still motionless upon the stretcher, looking all the more pale and cold from just moments earlier when they had pulled him away from Alberto. He strains to see over the side of his neck brace, his chest feeling tight as he takes in how unnaturally _quiet_ his ring announcer remains.

He's relieved when they're both finally pushed into the back of the ambulance, able to peer over at Ricardo much easier. The EMTs are still bustling around, keeping an eye on them both as the transport to the hospital _finally_ begins, but Alberto remains quiet, his only focus on Ricardo.

The EMTs bustling around them look focused on their duties as they check Ricardo's vitals once more, reading them off to what Alberto guesses must be the people at the hospital waiting for the transport vehicle to reach its destination. He has only a basic grasp on medical knowledge but the numbers sound high even to him. "Shock?" the female EMT suggests grimly, her eyes flickering from the radio they're using to communicate with the hospital to the still nonresponsive Ricardo.

"Seems so," the other technician responds quietly, scanning the vitals again and again and relaying any new information to the hospital in quick, clipped comments.

Other than cursory glances now and again, Alberto ignores the bustling staff, his gaze locked on what of Ricardo he can actually see. _Hold on, Ricardo..._

All Alberto gathers of the hospital when they arrive a few minutes later is large expanses of white walls and sober faced nurses. Ricardo is carted away from him, into one room, and he is pushed into a separate room down the hall, to his great displeasure.

While waiting for a doctor to come examine him, he runs his hands absently over his scarf, replaying the accident and its aftermath in his mind. How Ricardo had tried, again, to save him. It had been his downfall in the past- against Big Show, with Cena, during the pay per view earlier- but this was so far beyond that. It makes his head spin that Ricardo would go _this_ far to protect him. He's just about to start demanding attention loudly- or bribe one of the many nurses walking past his room- when finally a doctor enters, pushing aside the curtain blocking him from plain view of the hallway. "Hello. Mr. Del Rio, right?"

"Si," he says unflinchingly. "Yes," he repeats when the doctor hesitates, obviously reluctant at the prospect of treating someone behind a language barrier. The man relaxes slightly at the English usage and quickly scans the clipboard in his hand, introducing himself with another name for Del Rio to _not_ remember. "Is there any..." He hesitates, licks his lips. "...news on Ricardo Rodriguez?"

The doctor pauses, tapping a pen against the wood. "No, I don't believe so. He's not my patient, and I haven't heard anything. He came in with you?"

"He saved my life," Alberto corrects vaguely, remembering the sharp look of fear in Ricardo's eyes as the car bent in around them just before everything faded away.

The doctor nods grimly, taking in this information for a moment before getting to work. Del Rio scowls as the man pokes and prods over his sore ribs and head, aggravating his discomfort.

"Almost done," he comments, running a hand across the back of Del Rio's head and neck. "Ok." Pulling back, he settles down on a metal chair with no back across from the bed and makes some notes. "I see nothing worrisome- some bruises, cuts and you're going to be sore for awhile but I think you'll be fine. Just in case, I want you to stay here overnight though. Just to keep an eye on things."

"Hang on a moment," Alberto says, realizing what that means. "My friend- Ricardo Rodriguez- is there a chance we could possibly share a room?" At the doctor's hesitation, he rubs a finger across his forehead. "That way the nurses won't fret when they see I am not in my bed, because I _will _find him, no matter what." His eyes flash in the overhead light and the doctor rolls his eyes, seemingly unimpressed.

"I'll see what I can do," he mumbles, making a few notes on the clipboard in his hands before unceremonously leaving the room.

Del Rio squints at his back, glaring. "_Gringo idiota_..."

How long he ends up waiting, he's not entirely sure, though it feels like centuries. Thus by the time a nurse comes by to take him to his temporary room- which he spends the whole trip scowling at the wheelchair he's been ordered into, for _policy_ or some such weak reason- she just listens as he rants, half in American and half in Spanish about making him wait with no word on his ring announcer's condition.

His words die away as she guides the chair into a room and he catches sight of his roommate- Dr. Olmstead had come through, Ricardo laying across from him, pale and motionless. His breath catches in his throat as he leans forward, examining him as the nurse slowly pushes him closer. "He hasn't woke yet?"

"No," she whispers quietly, stopping his chair next to the bed. "I'm going to give you a few minutes... If you need anything, press this button." She untangles the device to call the nurse's desk from Ricardo's bedding, handing it over to Alberto.

He nods, pressing the cool plastic between two large hands. "Fine. Thank you." He waits until she leaves to return the device back to Ricardo's bed, leaning forward with an intensity in his dark eyes as he peers closely at his ring announcer.

"Ricardo?" He presses a hand to the cool hand nearest him and shakes his head, making a soft tsk sound. "These_ la enfermería,_" he mumbles derisively, standing just long enough to lift each hand and place it under the thin bedding covering him, taking great care because one is casted and the other has an IV. He frowns at the feel of the cheap fabric beneath his fingers. "Hmph."

His touch now shifts to Ricardo's forehead, his gaze taking in every pale, motionless inch of the younger man's face. "Ricardo, open your eyes," he urges lowly, his fingers gentle but insistent as they rub circles in his skin. "I hate hospitals, you know this."

Still no response and Alberto sighs louder, brushing his fingers through his ring announcer's soft, dark hair. Ricardo has never looked so young or vulnerable as he does in this moment. The thought gnaws at Alberto.

Tired of the chair, he pushes himself out of it and settles down on the bed still facing Ricardo, this angle better to see and touch him as his hand drifts back down to the other man's arm, squeezing gently. "What _were_ you thinking, you foolish man?" he murmurs, remembering how it felt, waking up in the car with Ricardo unconscious half on top of him. He hates how helpless he felt then, still feels now.

After a few minutes of silent contemplation, Alberto looks up when the door is pushed slowly open, a distracted Dr. Olmstead entering with his gaze locked on the clipboard before him. _Ricardo's chart,_ the former world champion figures, holding his breath unconsciously as the brisk doctor looks up and narrows his eyes, his displeased gaze digging into Alberto's dark stare. "What are you doing over there and not in your own bed?"

"Looking in on _mi mejor amigo._ Why hasn't he awoken yet?"

Ignoring the question momentarily, the doctor stands at the edge of Ricardo's bed, peering from machine to machine before focusing back on Alberto once more. "As you can see, he has a broken wrist. We've set that. With him unconscious, diagnosing a brain injury is a bit more difficult but the scans we've run so far aren't showing anything major, beyond the concussion. Broken ribs and cuts, bruises." He pauses, flipping the clipboard closed before glancing back at his patient. "All in all, none of it explains why he's still unconscious. But trauma does different things for different people."

Alberto absorbs this quietly, hmphing lowly as he ignores the hovering doctor while he finishes checking over Ricardo. On his way out to continue his rounds, he pauses at the door and shoots another look at Del Rio. "You'll want to be back in that chair before Gwen returns or she won't let you out of bed until you're released."

The Mexican Aristocrat rolls his eyes before running his fingers once more through Ricardo's hair. "Different things for different people..." He pulls back and peers at his ring announcer with a frown. "If this is your way of getting time off after the past few months..." The levity in his voice is feigned, almost painfully clipped as he thinks about how they've both been busy since his title run, but Ricardo maybe a bit more so than he while also working in Florida Championship Wrestling when not traveling around with Del Rio to various WWE events.

He releases a deep sigh at Ricardo's lack of response and pulls back slightly, reluctantly returning to his chair. He shifts forward, rubbing briskly up and down Ricardo's arm above the cast. "You wouldn't be so badly off if you hadn't..." His words fail him and he shakes his head.

He's still sitting there, head bowed slightly as he thinks, when Gwen returns, her eyes going from Ricardo to Alberto and back as she steps up close to the bed. "Are you ready?"

He nods grimly, not wanting to move but consoling himself that he'll just be a few feet away in the other bed. She helps him up, his breath catching slightly as _soreness_ from the accident finally makes itself known, his footsteps across the cool tile slow and cautious.

"Can I get you anything?" she asks once he's gingerly resting on the bed, gaze still flickering over to Ricardo.

"No," he murmurs, crossing his arms over his chest with a frown.

"Ok. If you need something, press the red button," she urges, holding up a grey device. At his nod, she turns for the door. "Rest well."

As soon as she's gone, he sneers at the door and sits up, peering over at Ricardo. "She thinks I can rest after all of this?" he asks his ring announcer. "Ha." His whole body throbs and his mind is racing; all in all, it's just torture to attempt to lay still on the uncomfortable hospital bed. After a minute, he drags himself upright and returns to Ricardo's side, resting his fingers in his hair carefully. "You'll be fine," he murmurs.

The next morning, Ricardo is still unresponsive, confused doctors and nurses gearing up for another round of tests to attempt to suss out what's going on with him as Alberto sits on the other bed, watching grimly. "What is going on with you, Ricardo?"

There's a knock at the door a little later and he looks up as Gwen enters the room, her eyes roving from Ricardo's still motionless form to the machines marking his vitals before finally falling on a watchful Del Rio. She lifts her hands, showing a large bag. "These are your personal effects," she explains.

"Why are you giving me them?" he asks even as he reaches out for them.

"You're being released soon." She places them on the bed before him and starts to leave, when his voice stops her.

"Where are... Ricardo's things?"

She turns slowly, a pinched, thoughtful look on her face. She peers over at the unconscious man and sighs. "We have them in Admissions... they're safe there."

"I want to see them," he insists, ignoring his body's soreness and sitting straighter as she peers at him. "Now."

She looks even more annoyed, her eyes flashing at his tone, before she turns back to the door. "I'll see what I can do."

It takes awhile but finally she returns with Alberto's release papers... _and_ another, similiar plastic bag to the one at Alberto's feet. She says little to nothing as she indicates where he's supposed to sign, nudging the bag towards him before scooping the papers up and leaving.

Alberto's hands tighten around the plastic and he turns to look at Ricardo. Standing, he shuffles across the room and settles on the edge of Ricardo's bed, quickly brushing his fingers through the younger man's hair once more before turning his attention again to the bag. "I have your things," he says softly, peeling the seal apart.

He frowns at the things inside, pulling out Ricardo's wallet. Beneath that, his iPad rests and Alberto wonders where exactly it had been during the wreck, he hadn't seen it... but then again he was so angry, focusing on every little thing Ricardo was carrying or had been messing around with wasn't at the top of his list. He turns the device to the side and sighs. The screen is cracked, spiderwebbing lines going from left to right, with the biggest in the middle. "_Condenado_."

Setting it aside, he reaches in once more and tugs out the cell phone that had in the end saved their lives. Pressing a button on it, he sucks in a breath as the wallpaper loads- something he hadn't paid any attention to the last time he had used the device. It is a picture of him and Ricardo from an autograph signing earlier in the year, looking relaxed; Alberto is smiling and Ricardo seems content next to him. He rests a finger against the screen and closes his eyes, lips pressed thinly together. _We'll have more moments like this one..._

He's still sitting there awhile later when there's a squeech and soft thud, another chair dropping against the tile next to him. He turns to yell at whoever is thoughtless enough to interrupt this sober moment, his words dying on his tongue as he recognizes the hulking form before him. "What are you doing here?"

Brodus Clay leans back in the chair and examines his former NXT pro before smiling mirthlessly, nodding towards Ricardo. "The car accident is big news, everyone's talking about it. I just wanted to check in, I guess, before Raw began tonight. How is he?"

"He's stable," Alberto says with a soft exhale. "His injuries don't appear severe- they've run many tests twice to make sure. But he still remains unconscious." He frowns at his ring announcer. "No one can tell me why."

Brodus looks uncertain and the moment passes as they stare quietly at Ricardo. "You know, he and I've tag teamed in Florida a time or two."

Alberto stares at him, eyebrows raised curiously. "And?" He hadn't known, avoiding FCW for the most part since his memories there weren't exactly enjoyable ones, full of frustration and feeling like his life, his potential was being stalled by sightless higher ups. In respect of his feelings, Ricardo very rarely discusses what he gets up to in the various tapings he's involved in.

"He's a fighter," Brodus shrugs, feeling awkward discussing this with the sharp eyed Mexican after everything they've been through. "Stubborn. Even when situations seem hopeless, he still keeps trying 'til the end. You just need to believe he'll be fine."

Del Rio hums thoughtfully. "That's easier said than done," he whispers tiredly.

Hours later, he's sitting there quietly when his phone goes off, the loud strains of his theme song echoing through the room. He takes a deep breath, not recognizing the number, and answers. "Hello?" He idly presses a hand to Ricardo's upper arm, rubbing circles in the thin fabric of the hospital gown as he listens. "Yes, this is he... What is this about?" He sits up straighter as he listens. "I see. I'm on my way."

Hanging up, he scrubs a hand over his face and stands, peering down at Ricardo. "I have to leave," he tells the unconscious man. "It won't be long." He watches him for a moment, eyes dark and troubled, before turning on his heel and walking away.

He's sober and quiet as he travels to the place that had towed his car, uncertain what he'll find upon arriving there; how bad the damage will be, what memories of the night before will return to him upon catching sight of the vehicle he had been stuck in with Ricardo.

The bustle of the building around him doesn't distract him as he fills out paper after paper, answering basic questions and making agreements to pay. As soon as he finishes the last signature, he looks up at the man waiting for him. "I want to see _mi coche_ now," he announces.

Exchanging a glance with another man behind the desk, the worker who had introduced himself as Sandy before listening patiently through his slow, thickly accented attempts at English shrugs and walks around it to join him. "We keep the cars in the back," he explains, motioning to a door on the other side of the room. "Follow me."

When Alberto first gets a look at the damage, he sucks in a deep breath, his eyes tightening. "Ay..." Ignoring the man next to him, he walks the rest of the way to it as if in a daze.

Damage from the accident is visible at very first glance and sobering, the bright red metal dented in, a crater on the left side where the light pole had been. He gingerly touches the edge of the ruined trunk, shaking his head. _If Ricardo hadn't... _he thinks, staring down through the windshield at the driver's seat. _With no seat belt..._ He swallows and scrubs a hand over his face, through his hair.

"Mr. Del Rio? We need to discuss what you want done with the car now," Sandy says quietly after a few moments.

"Fine." Alberto gives the car one last quick glance before following him back into the building to fill out more paperwork authorizing the car to be shipped to his ranch in Mexico.

As he finishes, he glances at the clock. His frown grows harsher. He hadn't intended to be gone for over an hour, but that's exactly what had happened. "I must return to the hospital," he declares, sliding the agreements back across to Sandy.

"Hey, Michael," Sandy calls over to his coworker, who looks up. "Mind driving Mr. Del Rio so he doesn't have to wait for a taxi?"

"Sure." There's an awkward moment as Alberto peers from man to man before agreeing, not wanting to waste anymore time away from Ricardo's side pushing the doctors to figure out what's wrong with his ring announcer.

He returns to Ricardo's room first thing, leaning against the bed as he adjusts the sheets around the younger man's body, disliking how the cold seems to seep into the room despite the heater audibly running in the corner. "Ricardo, haven't you slept enough?" He rests his chin in his hand and just watches for a moment, the heart monitor's repetitiveness annoyingly loud in the horribly silent room.

Taking a breath, he rests a hand on Ricardo's upper arm before standing back up. "I'll be back. Soon, I promise." He squeezes lightly before leaving the room. "You," he all but barks as he comes across Gwen shifting through files at the nurse's station. She blanches but stands her ground as he glowers at her. "Where is that doctor at? I want to speak with him."

She huffs slightly before turning away from him. "I'll tell him. He may be with a patient, however."

"Just find him." He glares at her with heavy, dark eyes until she turns sharply on her heel and marches away, knuckles white around the folder she's carrying.

His fingers are rapping impatiently against the desk when he hears someone walking towards him, talking lowly with that nurse. "Mr. Del Rio?" Dr. Olmstead asks, trying and failing to mask his own look of exasperation behind detached professionalism.

"Why hasn't he awoke yet?" He doesn't even bother with small talk or drawing things out.

The doctor stands a little straighter, able to appreciate the straightforward nature of the Mexican before him. He tires of sugarcoating it all the time, being forced to work on his _bedside manner_ by nurses and higher ups alike. "We've run three series of tests, it's nothing obviously physical. There's nothing wrong with him that should be causing this that our tests are revealing." He quietly walks around Alberto, placing some files on the nurse's desk. "My best guess, whatever's keeping him under is psychosomatic. Other than that, I don't know what to tell you but sooner or later, if nothing changes, we're going to suggest he be moved to in-home care or a long term care facility because we need the space."

Alberto's glower at this is almost enough to send even Olmstead scampering off, his stubborn pride the only thing keeping him in place. "Ricardo stays," he says angrily. "Until he wakes up. I will pay for whatever it takes to accomplish that."

The doctor's lips thin and he shakes his head. "This isn't my battle anyway, administration will be sniffing around soon enough, you'll have to fight it out with them." He grimaces distastefully before turning sharply and pressing a hand to the files lying scattered across the nurse's desk. "Supposedly if you talk with unconscious people, it helps them. How, I don't know. But I've seen weirder things in my medical career."

Alberto watches with a frown as the doctor walks off without another word, his back straight as he enters a waiting elevator. "Hmph," he all but huffs, returning to Ricardo's room. Nothing has changed and he paces back and forth in front of the bed for awhile, mumbling Spanish in agitation, unable to look for very long at his unresponsive ring announcer. Finally he comes to a stop, scraping fingers through his hair before turning.

"Ricardo..." he mutters, finally taking his usual place by Ricardo's side. His one leg remains folded against the bed with the other flush against the floor, keeping him balanced. After a moment's hesitation, he slowly slips his hand into Ricardo's uncasted hand, squeezing slightly. Before he can think of anything else to say, there's a tremble and twitch as Ricardo's fingers tighten around his knuckles.

He looks up, eyes gleaming at the first signs of life from his ring announcer since the accident. "Ricardo?" Leaning forward, he starts running his fingers through his hair once more. "Can you hear me?" He waits, the seconds ticking away in time with the beeping machines, but nothing further happens, Ricardo doesn't move again. "¡_caray_!" His temper fades slowly as he takes in Ricardo's peaceful appearance, breathing steadily in and out. "It's ok," he mumbles. "It is a start, yes?"

He idly runs a hand through his hair before his gaze falls upon the pristine white of Ricardo's cast, taking in a deep breath. It's a random, not thought out moment, as he reaches over and plucks a pen that had been left behind by one of the nurses off of Ricardo's tray, fiddling with the cap for a moment before popping it off.

Squinting at the white plaster, he finds a good spot on the underside of the cast, immediately putting the marker to it before he can change his mind. He works painstakingly, careful with each line, making sure not to mess it up or smudge it in anyway. It takes almost twenty minutes but finally he sits back, body protesting the awkward angle it had been held in for too long. The Del Rio crest, so similar to what had been on his first piece of WWE merchandise, spreads down Ricardo's wrist with the word _Destiny _scratched below it. He smiles faintly.

The next day, there is still no change and Alberto has had enough of sitting around doing nothing. Phone call after phone call and finally he thinks he's found what he needs. When administration does come, a professional, brisk woman with a tightness around her eyes that proves how tough her job can be, he expertly talks around her. "I'm calling in a specialist," he announces before she can even open her mouth. "He will be in by this evening to examine Ricardo."

She looks displeased, her lips tightening even further. "Very well, but we need that bed soon. If there's no change..."

"I know," he snaps. "But for now, I will pay for any expenses that come from it."

She sighs, having heard through the hospital grapevine that the man in the impeccable suit before her is well-off, especially in Mexico. With the economy as it is, money is money. She caves. "Fine. We'll grant another day or two."

"Thank you."

It's been hours with no change, except that Brodus has returned, looking out of place and almost uncomfortable as Alberto peers at him, eyes sharp and heavy. "You'll call me if there's any news? I've called in a specialist and he should be here shortly."

"Of course." Brodus nods, eyes roaming from Ricardo to Del Rio and back. "Things will go fine."

Alberto nods sharply, reluctant to leave Ricardo's side. "Yes... well. If the autograph signing wasn't within driving range, I wouldn't bother keeping it, but Ricardo enjoyed them..." His voice trailing off, he frowns.

Brodus nods, unsure what to say about the turmoil in the usually jovial world champion's gaze. He's seen redhot anger, unwavering pride, and ecstatic joy in the man's face, but never conflict and a deep sadness like this. Before he had chosen Alberto during NXT, he had heard the rumors that the man was all but unapproachable, the language barrier and his elitist attitude meaning that he only hung out with Ricardo regularly. It hadn't been far from the truth, though Alberto had never gone out of his way to make Brodus' life hell, even when he came in second, the contest was over and it was time for the rookies to sink or swim.

"I understand, boss," he says slowly, falling into old vocal patterns with the man as he drags himself out of his thoughts when Alberto begins to look impatient. "If anything changes, I'll call you."

"Thank you." Despite Brodus' constant reassurances, the Mexican Aristocrat still lingers, his lips tight with displeasure. An idea coming to him, he leans over Ricardo and carefully lifts the spotless scarf that he had found folded delicately in the outer pocket of his bag that Clay had brought over when Del Rio had called him upon deciding to carry out his responsibilities. He gingerly wraps it around Ricardo's neck, the scarf long enough to rest all the way down to his hands. "I will be back soon," he murmurs. A quick nod to Brodus and he's out of the room. He pauses for a moment in the hallway to see what Brodus does first, however.

Brodus isn't talkative on a good day and knowing that the other man can't respond compounds that, the cheap hospital chairs squeaking warningly as he drops down onto it. But he had promised Alberto he'd at least _try_ and it's ultimately long-held respect for his former pros that makes him lean forward. "So, Ricardo, I'm gonna be in this movie..."

His thin lips twitching into a smile, Del Rio finally heads for the exit.

By the time Alberto returns three and a half hours later, there has been no change in Ricardo's condition and Brodus isn't even sure what he's talking about anymore, his voice low and eyes heavy as he almost dozes off in this uncomfortable, tight chair. Del Rio's voice down the hall revives him and he's standing at attention by the time Alberto enters the room, Gwen lingering behind him. "There's no change, boss," he tells the other man reluctantly. "I talked to him like you told me to though." _That might've been the problem,_ he can't help but think, well aware that nothing he said was really interesting or groundbreaking. _Oh well. I tried._

"Thank you, Brodus," he says quietly, settling down on the bed next to Ricardo. "You should have seen the line, Ricardo. Ridiculous. And most asked of you." He sighs, trailing a hand along the edge of his scarf. "It was... ah, _aburrido_ without you," he murmurs.

Brodus listens for only a few more moments before collecting his jacket, deciding to give the two privacy. When he glances back, Alberto is still facing Ricardo, talking softly. Not wanting to take the world champion's attention away from his ring announcer, he quietly slips out of the room, pausing at the window peering into the hospital room.

Alberto leans forward, brushing his fingers through the other man's hair affectionately. The large man smiles slightly, surprised by Del Rio's rare show of gentleness. _Things'll work out,_ he tells himself before turning towards the exit.

He's still in that position when Ricardo's heart rate spikes, starts beating faster. It's minor enough that no alarms go off, the nurses don't come running to see what's going on, but Del Rio's observant gaze takes everything in. "What is going on with you, _mi amigo_?" he breathes, still stroking the dark strands lying limply against Ricardo's forehead.

They have sat like this, he's not sure how long, when there's another, more subtle change. Ricardo's sleep-peaceful expression shifts, a frown marring his features. Alberto watches curiously for a moment, his fingers still resting on Ricardo's skin, when his heart rate speeds up slightly.

"Ricardo?" He leans closer, frowning himself as Ricardo's breath catches slightly. His worry grows until the younger man takes a deep breath, his hands trembling. Alberto notices this and takes them in his own, massaging them slightly. "You're cold."

A part of him hopes for Ricardo to move, grip his hand, something. That the frown on his face is the start of something- perferably his waking up finally, but the only thing that continues happening is his strained breathing. One hand still curled around Ricardo's, he resumes brushing his fingers through his hair, hoping that it offers some comfort to the unconscious man.

"The specialist I have called for should be here soon," he murmurs, peering up at Ricardo. "He will work his magic and you will awaken, yes?" At least, he hopes so. This unnatural silence and stillness from the fiercely loyal man before him eats at him, leaves him unnaturally anxious. His fingers press against the cool edge of the cast still wrapped around the other man's wrist and he sighs. "You must."

Time ticks by slowly as Alberto shifts against the stiff sheets, his chin now resting in his palm as he watches the younger man sleep on, a distressed look remaining on his pale face.

"Ricardo, _please,_" he finally murmurs. Alberto Del Rio does not beg but the silence is grating at his patience more than any long winded John Cena speech ever has, Ricardo's soft breathing the only thing keeping him from completely losing it.

This is the only reason he notices as Ricardo gasps lightly, his face scrunching up even more. His fingers pause against the cast, waiting, watching, hoping for another reaction. None comes. His head lowering against the limp hand, he squeezes his eyes shut.

The sound of Ricardo's heart beating is reflected in the beeping of the heart monitor, his cool palm held tightly within Alberto's hand. Rodriguez surrounds the world champion, and yet he's never felt so alone in his life. "Ricardo...". He remembers the look on Gwen's face when he'd confronted her earlier about Ricardo's unchanging condition. How the hospital administration wanted to kick his ring announcer out at first opportunity. Dr. Olmstead's blunt words. _That's it!_ "They say you can probably hear me," he murmurs, flexing his fingers against Ricardo's. "If this is true, follow my voice..." There is no reaction and he waits. "If this is true, if you hear me, follow my voice. I tire of this place, don't you?" Still nothing. His eyes flash in aggravation. "_Please_, Ricardo... Open your eyes."

Minutes pass tensely with no response, no change in his heart rate, nothing.

Alberto huffs in displeasure, sitting back to rub a hand over his face. He _almost_ misses the subtle twitch of Ricardo's lips, like he wants to smile. There's a fast shift in the man's expression, however, as his lips start to tremble, the sadness on his expression eating at Del Rio as he leans forward, spotting something gleaming in the soft lights overhead.

"Are you... _crying?_" He is equally fascinated and disturbed as he reaches over and gently runs a hand along Ricardo's cheeks, under his eyes. "Ricardo." His fingers come back wet and he stares at them for a moment before returning to his ring announcer's side. He's not affectionate on a good day but the tears on Ricardo's face snaps something in him, so he, mindful of the IVs and everything else, carefully pulls Ricardo into a sitting position and wraps his arms around him. "What is going on with you?" he breathes against the dark hair tickling his jaw, sighing softly as he tightens his grip.

There's a soft, answering sigh against his neck and Alberto runs his fingers between the other man's shoulder blades, rubbing gently.

"Ricardo," he murmurs, hoping that the little signs he had seen after nothing for nearly two days meant the younger man was about to wake up fully.

Ricardo stiffens in his arms, his breathing suddenly labored and rushed. The rapid beeps of his heart machine races in Alberto's head, startling him. By the time he leans back to peer into Ricardo's face, the injured man has fallen back into unconsciousness.

_"¡Maldita Sea!" _he hisses, returning to the chair with his arms crossed. Time ticks by slowly, only rare twitches from Ricardo attracting Alberto's attention. He doesn't bother to tell the already unhelpful doctors that the younger man had been responsive, only side eyeing the nurses when they wander in to check Ricardo's vitals. They've been alone for, he's not sure how long, when he hears a pained gasp from the bed. "Ricardo?" he asks softly, leaning closer.

Realizing that Ricardo's eyes are open, he quickly stands and watches in shock as the ring announcer starts to struggle, trying to sit up. It's obvious he's in pain, his breathing labored, each movement jerky and tight.

"Ricardo!" Alberto finally exclaims, coming back to himself in time to grab his ring announcer by the shoulders and push him back down to the bed gently.

_"_No, no," he moans, trying to fight Alberto off. He's too weak to do anything, really, obviously unaware of what's going on around him, so the world champion just holds onto him, shifting so he's basically hugging him again, just to stop his struggles. "No... No." His voice is wavering from weak to strong but Alberto doesn't move, his breath brushing through the younger man's hair. "Let me go. I need... need to find him."

Ricardo's dazed voice and equally unfocused gaze eats at Alberto, who slowly begins massaging his hands up and down his back once more in an attempt at comfort. "Find who, Ricardo?" There is no vocal response, just a breath so deep that it shudders through both of them, Ricardo's body rigid with pain. "I'll call the doctor..."

However, when he stands, something tugs his shirt desperately, stopping him from moving. He looks down to find Ricardo's hand tangled around the fabric, his grip surprisingly strong. "No. No, please. Don't leave me alone." He finally pulls away and looks up at Alberto, a look of wonder spreading across his face. The Mexican Aristocrat stays still as he reaches up and brushes trembling fingers across his face, taking in the vague cuts still marring his skin. His touch warm against Alberto's face, a deep sadness suddenly overwhelms Ricardo's expression. "Are we dead?"

His jaw drops as he peers at him, confused. "What? No!" He watches with a frown as Ricardo's eyes flutter, the younger man obviously close to passing out once more. _I forgot the doctor,_ he thinks before turning his attention back to the matter at hand. "Whatever would make you think that, Ricardo?"

"You died," is all he manages before sleep claims him once more, leaving a confused, worried Alberto behind to watch and wait until he awakens once more.

**Concluded in Next To Me.**


End file.
